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gregwetherall
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History of the Eagles (2013)
A Band Apart
One might think that should there ever be a Mount Rushmore of country rock, they may well etch the faces of the Eagles into the cliff side. However, they might need some time, for there have been quite a few comings and goings and line-up changes in camp Eagles over the years. This documentary ventures into the first chapter of the band's existence and provides evidence of the rifts, drifts, differences and fallouts that have occurred. It is probably fair to say that the Eagles are one of the most notoriously disharmonious of bands, who inexplicably and ironically orchestrate some of the most harmonious musical harmonies of any group since CSN. It is still a struggle today to meet a band that matches up vocally.
Although they may not straddle the earth with an omnipresence that marked their original inception and 1970s heyday, the reformed country rockers are still synonymous with classic radio and the rock album format.
Running at 2 hours, there is a lot of ground to cover. For a casual viewer, there is a mercifully breezy skip through respective childhoods and the pace is pushed with momentum towards the inspiring and prolific late-60s underground music scene of LA that homed residencies of Poco, Buffalo Springfield, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt et al. There is acknowledgment as to the creatively incestuous backdrop of the times, of the area and of the era. The sort that enabled artists to shift, move and collaborate seemingly at will. As the late 60s moved into the early 70s and success increased for the bulk of the aforementioned artists, it is clear that all look back with giddy rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia. The creativity was clearly as intoxicating as the drugs that they were recreationally self-medicating.
The Eagles were always a band that stood apart from their peers. They did so for a few reasons. One, is that they were massively successful in a way that the others could only dream of, another is that they had a steely core that made them efficiently consummate and business-like. Both of these aspects are highlighted by the documentary. The band reflect openly upon their motivations and inclinations, with a mix of new interviews and footage that dates back to the period. To see how much and how little they've changed is part of the joy of the feature. Around the mid-point, Joe Walsh arrives into the frame and is spotlighted in both the past and the present as an impassioned guitarist who is part-talent, part-court jester. His phrasing exudes a humorous hybrid of Keith Richards and Stephen Stills along with a healthy dose of his own breezy personality. For a music film, the tone is more or less consistently serious throughout, so his appearance offers some light hearted respite.
On the downside, there is not as much insight into the studio processes as a fan may want, but the band members are all given a fair hearing from both time periods and talk candidly about being in the epicentre of the Eagles whirlwind.
Understandably, Part One ends on a decisively sour note; their downfall and break-up. Although the pressures of topping the totemic Hotel California engulfed them all to a certain extent, it is clear that decisive fractures of the intragroup relationships had crippled the band. It is also evident that the distractions around the process was a demon that gobbled them up. Power may corrupt and absolute power may corrupt absolutely, but I am sure there is a pithy equivalent for success. Life in the fast lane had brought this group crashing into a ditch.
This is a tale that has enough acrimony to give Pink Floyd a run for their money. They may have been back together since 1994, as they will happily testify, but in case you're wondering, they only speak to Don Felder through lawyers. Some things don't change and won't be taken easy.
Trance (2013)
Boyle Sending Audiences Into A Trance
2012 was the year that Danny Boyle became a national hero for many in his domestic Britain after masterminding a stunning opening ceremony of the Olympics. Seemingly able to satisfy even the sternest of sceptics with a rabid display of flair and flamboyance, he became elevated to a hallowed level of reverence. In the weeks that followed, he seemed to acquire an approval rating that most politicians would have gawped at, green eyed with envy. He stands tall as an icon of the every man, with an unaffected regional accent and amiable demeanour, with a dose of easy going charm. Beneath this genial appearance is a voracious talent that is testament to many years of hard work alongside any natural ingenuity. Lauded with plaudits and success, it would appear he can do no wrong. Or can he?
Returning to his day job, Boyle re-enters the film arena with Trance, a London-based psychological thriller that rushes around with about as much calm and patience as an ADHD sufferer. He has said that he was finishing this project whilst he was working on the Olympic opening ceremony, and that this should be viewed as its 'dark, evil cousin'.
Starring Vincent Cassel, James McAvoy and Rosario Dawson, Trance undertakes a card shuffling roll call of sympathy and understanding. Early on, McAvoy's Simon misplaces a valuable painting. Under the persuasive encouragement of Cassel's band of criminals, he ends up seeking the counsel and help of hypnotist, Elizabeth (Dawson), to retrace his steps. Although the backdrop for the film is that of a common theme; a heist, it is merely window dressing for what is an indeed dark and, heck, schizophrenic joyride into the mind.
With a nodded cap to the disorientating freewheeling narrative of Nolan's Memento, this film glides along a bumpy path. It takes pleasure in scrutinising the tricks and tics of memory. Boyle plays chess with the players and moves them around with the devilish glee of a ringmaster induced with the cruel egomaniacal urge of a cartoon villain. You can almost hear the grind of his hands rubbing together as he plots each skittish twist and turn. This is aided, helpfully, by Joe Aherne's source material and the screenplay's joyfully itchy nature. The film also has echoes of Inception. But with added sex.
Daring to make this an adult film and not dilute it in order to make it accessible for a wider and broader audience, he does not eschew from graphic and explicit depictions. He performs with the cinematic frisson of a British Tarantino, but without Quentin's fondness for a baggy screenplay. Having said that, and although such comparisons make for neat phrases for critics to write, Danny Boyle is very much his own man. His films are all underpinned by his stylistic stamps of authorship. In fact, as it tends to be a defining quality of all of Boyle's films, this one does not disappoint in its assault on the senses. The thumping soundtrack plays havoc on the ears and the fast cuts fix into the eyes with the precision of a laser beam.
Not everything is welcomed wholeheartedly and with open arms, however. As much as the virtues of Trance are easy to spot and identify, it is also somewhat flawed. So much emphasis seems to be placed on tripping the audience (in every possible sense) that the film renders itself a little distant to the sense of touch. The characters are slippery and the consequence of such skillful toying with the assumed integrity (or lack thereof) of the protagonists leads inevitably to an arms space from empathy.
In addition to this, the relentlessly florid displays of directorial showmanship makes the pacing a little too one-sided. So persistent is the pace that the runtime feels a little longer than the 101 minutes that it forms and you may well emerge exhausted as the lights come up. Maybe the frenetic nature of Trance is a deliberate counterpoint to the relative stasis of 127 Hours. As it stands, this film zips along at a speed that would make even Usain Bolt baulk and cower with fear.
Any quibbles mentioned do not deviate the bottom line verdict. This film is, on balance, a mighty success. It may not be as charming and lovable as the Oscar garnering Slumdog Millionaire, but it is a relentlessly entertaining thrill ride. It stands as an hour and forty minutes at a cinematic equivalent of the best theme park you could name. Hold on tight and buckle in.
La demora (2012)
The strains of caring for a father who has fallen deep into dementia. Single mother of three is stretched to the limit. Is there such a thing as cruel to be kind?
Familial duty and sacrifice are fruitful grounds for dramatists, providing a rich vein of stock for analysis and psychology.
This feature from Rodrigo Pla explores the tribulations of a single mother fighting to maintain composure and security for her family home, in a bleak essay on the consequence of desperate times calling for desperate measures.
Maria (Roxana Blanco) works as a seamstress. She struggles to provide a home for her three children and her ill father, who is requiring more and more attention. Her salary does not offer adequate cover for this bustling household, with its demand of care and comfort. Seeking advice from the authorities for assistance in the care for her father, she is confronted with a dead-end. This forces her into making a tough decision, and the implications might break the family for once and for all.
This is an austere drama, skirting away from the impulses of a mainstream melodrama, by keeping a distance from all of the protagonists, not least the mother. Pla does not make her an overly sympathetic figure. On the one hand, this heightens the realism (not everyone is postcard perfect), but it also requires some adjustment on behalf of the viewer to attempt to process the thought patterns running through the mind of this daughter. The bumpy and emotionally removed start paves way for a stronger second half, that leads to a gripping finale. The father, Agustin (played by Carlos Vallarino), oozes vulnerability and expertly encapsulates the innocent confusion caused by dementia.
Although not perfect, this film prompts discussion, and that is one of the beauties of cinema. It is disappointing that the first half does not match the second, but it is an interesting picture and worth seeking out.
for more film reviews: toomuchnoiseblog.com and www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall
The Angels' Share (2012)
Whiskey in the jar: A film of two halves as one of Britain's finest directors moulds his own crime caper set in Scotland.
Is Ken Loach Britain's very own Woody Allen? On the surface, the answer would most likely be no. Stylistically very different. Closer inspection, however, show greater parallels than one might initially imagine. Both are extremely prolific, well within their twilight years, both have to venture into Europe to secure their funding and both are completely and utterly adored by the French.
For Loach, forever on the periphery of popular culture (aside from Kes (1969), of course), things have never really been otherwise. In many ways, his films have provided a critical and unflinching picture of Britain throughout the last 40 years. Standing on the sidelines shining a light on the underdog and highlighting the gaps within the British class system, he has done so not with a crass voyeurism in the manner of a sneering class tourist, but with a sincere brushstroke of honesty. For all the destitution and violence, he has detailed the strong bonds that often exist within the deprived communities.
The Angel's Share marks the 12th film that he has directed with the accompaniment of writer, Peter Laverty; a fruitful partnership that started back with Carla's Song (1996). Sharing more in common with the lighthearted and breezy (for Loach) Looking for Eric (2009) than the subsequent Route Irish (2010), there is room for plenty of laughs with this particular band of merry brothers (and sister).
Opening with the sentencing of a number of delinquents to community service, the focus falls on young Robbie (Paul Brannigan), a ne'er do well who represents the latest in a long line of rogues born from his family's gene pool. With history seemingly set to repeat itself, and feuds with neighbouring families falling from one generation to the next, Robbie needs to break the cycle. If not for him, then for the child that is on its way. In a bitter twist, his pregnant girlfriend is the daughter of a rival family who do not look upon his presence kindly.
Under the tutelage of community service officer, Harry (a reliably solid John Henshaw), Robbie is not only able to fulfill his civic obligation, but he is also able to strike upon a previously unforeseen nasal talent, which offers a potential 'out' through the whiskey trade. To say anything else would be a spoiler. Suffice to say, somewhere along the line a plan is hatched.
Where the first half of this film offers a sombre, grimy look at Glasgow and the push and pull of family ties and tensions, the second half takes a far lighter tone. The first half is the more effective and compelling. In one scene, a meeting is set up where Robbie is confronted with the victim of his crime. Interspersed with flashbacks to the horrific violence that formed the basis of Robbie's conviction in time past, the effect is shocking. Loach has stated that he didn't want the flashbacks to be put in slow motion. He felt that this would diminish the brutality. He wanted to showcase the violence in real time. He wanted it to be visceral. He has succeeded. In fact, at first, the film struggles to recover from the power of this scene. The pace of the script counters this by flushing the narrative forward. It excels in doing so. There is a contagious bonhomie with all of the main characters, and the script has enough brio and warmth to engage the viewer. A minor quibble would be that the well performed Albert (Gary Maitland) suspends belief a little too far as a personality type, cast as he is in the idiot savant role. Still, there is certainly enough here for both emotional investment and a good few chuckles along the way.
The only section that could be accused of dragging is the main set-piece involving the heist. This is perhaps an unfair criticism, however, as the film has to unavoidably subscribe to genre conventions at this point. The screenplay does its job well in enabling the film to zip by without too much damage being done.
As a non-professional actor plucked from obscurity, Paul Brannigan's performance is outstanding, and he certainly stands to gain the most from this film's success. He is a natural, bringing both a strength and a vulnerability to Robbie.
In some quarters, this film has been referred to as being a Scottish Full Monty. This does not necessarily do either film any real service. It is true that both are heartwarming and feature the working class. This is not enough to lump them in as the equivalent of each other though.
As an intoxicating pick-me-up, the Angel's Share succeeds. Ken Loach has stepped further out into the light with this film, creating what is surely his most family friendly film (minus the swearing and violence of course, but you were never going to get a Mrs Doubtfire from him, were you?). Is this film perfect? No. However, just like the characters in the Angel's Share deserve a fair chance, so does this picture.
for more film reviews: toomuchnoiseblog.com and www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall
In film nist (2011)
A window into the oppressive state of a nation, as documented by Iranian film maker.
Covering a day in the life of a man awaiting verdict from the Appeals court in Iran comes a documentary with a very specific purpose; to showcase the suffocating force exerted by the Iranian government on the artistic community.
Film-maker Jafar Panahi is under house arrest. His crime? "Propaganda against the regime". Sounding positively Orwellian, his sentence is 6 years in prison, a 20 year ban on making films and a 20 year ban on leaving the country. Understandably, he is frustrated, worried and angry with, and at, the political system. Being forbidden to make the film he planned on making, he uses the time in his apartment to lay out the bare bones of his latest screenplay.
This documentary film, it is important to note, is not constructed under a conventional arc. It is openly improvised. You see a man unsure where to steer the piece as it moves along. He is uncertain if anyone will ever set their eyes on what he is filming, and the lack of certainty hangs over the documentary like an ominous invisible cloud. However, amongst all of this are some surreal moments. There is frequent footage of his pet iguana and his escapades within the confines of the apartment. This footage allows for some light to creep in amongst the varying shades of sombre. Generally speaking, this is an exercise in seeing a film maker stripped of the fourth wall, and in its place, an ordinary person performing creatively within their own four walls. Ironically, the most dramatic aspect of the film is one that does not form part of what we see, and is not even added as a post-script; the film had to be smuggled out of Iran on a memory card that was hidden inside a cake.
Thanks to the surreptitious nature of the film's construction and export, This Is Not A Film could not be any more accurate to its title. It is the epitome of a document that is oxymoronic; the film has a very specific purpose and reason to exist, yet it also plays out with no narrative sense of purpose in any conventional sense.
Arguably, the most compelling facet of the documentary is in the understanding of the context in which it was made.
Criticism of this film is hard to level, hence the non-rating that heads this review. Bizarrely, despite containing no linear narrative, no talking heads and no interviews, it still stands as a fascinating window peek into a government that is terrifying, petrifying, anaesthetising and nullifying the proletariat. There is no fancy camera work, and the lack of focus means that it would be hard to recommend this film as being one for repeat viewings.
Yet still, it is something that needs to be seen. In fact, it commands to be seen. It is a brave feat and endeavour. It is engrossing because the viewer is left to marvel at how it made its way to our screens at all. It is a contemporaneous note on present day Iran and a call to the wider world. A cry for freedom and the purity of free expression. It highlights the extent to which civil liberties have been robbed and denied from the creative industries by the state. The real victim is freedom of speech. Freedom of expression. It is a news bulletin without filter.
for more film reviews: toomuchnoiseblog.com (@toomuch_noise) and www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall
Skyfall (2012)
Hmmm....
Around the time of Casino Royale, the 2006 instalment of the James Bond series, there was not a great deal of expectation. Internet chatrooms and comment sites were filled with antagonistic references to the casting of Daniel Craig as Bond. It was an act of heresy to cast a blond Bond. It was heinous to have someone who was not overtly suave and sophisticated. The naysayers were plentiful. The aftermath of the Casino Royale release was that not only was Craig a fantastic Bond, he was quite possibly Bond's saviour. He had made the series hip again, when it appeared to be outdated and outmoded, a nostalgic nod to days of old.
After Casino Royale's runaway success – widespread critical acclaim and huge box office receipts (the golden ticket for any movie), came the first bump in the road in the form of the flawed and confused follow-up, Quantum of Solace. For a time, it looked as though QoS would be the full stop, rather than a comma, in the story of the British Agent. MGM pulled the plug on funding in light of the international monetary crisis and their own subsequent slide into bankruptcy. What a pity for this great institution to bow out on a whimper. In the years that followed, the faithful trumpeted up a lot of support and the cries for a further film grew.
Thankfully, Sony stepped in and enabled production and distribution for this particular offing (and this is abundantly clear from the neat product placement in the feature itself).
To outline the plot of a Bond film is not really essential to the review of the content. All Bond films are at once exactly the same, yet also different from each other. It is the routine and checklist of the format that forms part of its appeal. Accordingly, all the Bond tropes are adhered to in Skyfall. Suitably bombastic and dramatic theme song? Check. Gadgets (or lack of) dispensed by Q? Check. Opening scene chase sequence? Check. Memorable baddie? Check. The list could go on. What is important is that Sam Mendes has taken control with a healthy respect for the films preceding Skyfall, and also an enthusiasm to deliver his own stamp on the franchise.
This is Craig's third outing, and his presence is by this point familiar and comfortable. There is no shock in his brand of delivery. There is no updating required. There is a need, however, to reinstate the standing of the films after the aforementioned disappointing predecessor. The films opens with a strong hand; a suitably ambitious cross-city chase that incorporates cars, bikes and trains, before providing a heart-in-mouth moment that fires up the adrenaline and provides appropriate reminder, if needed, that we are in James Bond territory. Soon, Adele's theme song plays and the credits roll. The song itself is a welcome return to the grandeur of the theme songs of old, with a Spy Who Loved Me, 'Nobody Does It Better', and Goldfinger sense of import. Rather than being a periphery character, this version pulls in more substance for M, who becomes a major player. Forever reliable, Dame Judy Dench imparts necessary quintessential English reserve to the part. Javier Bardem, who enters proceedings at around the mid-point, is a revelation. One of the saddest aspects of the film is the fact that not more is made of the interplay and verbal interaction between him and Bond. With more emphasis on the psychological swordplay between the two, this could have been an outstanding film. As things stand, he is wily, assured, cunning and cool, marking a volatile cocktail of disenchantment and frustration.
This is a solid action film, and one that will arrive with a lot of good will resting on its shoulders. People like the series and want this to do well. Does it succeed? The inclusion of the basic elements of fire, ice and water lead to a full house of dangerous tricks, but some parts work better than others. The penultimate showdown falls a little flat, despite pyrotechnics flaring up in a supernova of light and smoke. The story is not really substantial or absorbing, despite a more than generous running time. Does this matter? It will depend on your own inclinations.
In short, this is another Bond film much like all the other Bond films, and yet also its own work
Well, you probably knew that already. If you are fond of the antics and escapades of 007, then you will find much to enjoy and revel in here. If not, then this will not necessarily convert you. Business as usual then.
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Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted (2012)
The gang is back for another cross-continental jaunt in a surprisingly effective (and very funny) entry for the series.
Arriving in 2005, in a period when Pixar's dominance looked all-encompassing, Dreamworks dispensed a challenge to the throne with Madagascar. Success did not look likely when it came accompanied with middling-to-poor reviews, which accused it of being one-dimensional and clichéd, despite some humorous characters and a strong voice cast. It suffered critically because it lacked the multi-layered intricacies and groundbreaking animation of Pixar's finest works (of the time period). Such films as, The Incredibles (2004), Finding Nemo (2003) and Toy Story (1995-). Consequently, it was easy to disregard the worth of this more traditional escapist fare. The audiences spoke in droves, however, with the original feature becoming extremely successful and spawning a disappointing sequel in 2008, entitled, Madagascar 2: Escape to Africa.
Off the back of this mixed history comes this third instalment. The now-familiar troupe of misfits and comrades are still plotting a return to their native home of New York, only this time, they opt for a route across Europe. This will culminate in brushes with the French authorities and a frosty reception with a travelling circus with chaotic results. The starry voice cast all return, as Ben Stiller, Chris Rock, David Schwimmer, Jada Pinkett Smith and Sacha Baron Cohen lend their voices to Alex, Marty, Melman, Gloria and Julien, respectively.
It is easy for snobbery to creep in when assessing films, and to become haughtily unimpressed by simple satisfaction and crowd-pleasing gestures by film makers. This is highly unfair and unreasonable. For instance, does this film put a smile on the viewer's face? Yes. Is it funny? Extremely. Does it out-stay its welcome? Not really – it wraps up in a neat hour and a half. All of these factors reflect positively on this addition to the Madagascar chain. In fact, it is the strongest of the three films so far. It is a rip-roaring ride that not only packs in a fast-moving plot, but also contains plenty of animation ingenuity. It looks as though this film has been lovingly crafted. As expected, there are bright colours, lots of noises, and strong gags. Julien is back with his funniest lines since the first film and the introduction of new characters replenish the lifeblood of all involved.
This does come at the expense of Melman and Gloria, however, who are sidelined slightly in this particular outing. Although fans may be disappointed with this outcome, it is most likely the result of honing the script down to bare essentials and trimming any excess that might enable all to get a fair airing, but to the detriment of telling the tale. Also, criticism could be levelled at a few of the plot excursions which have been seen before elsewhere. For example, there is a strand involving a moody and aggressive Russian circus tiger, Vitaly, who has a similar story trajectory and development as that of Paul Newman's Doc Hudson in Cars (2006).
Such nit-picking as that above is pointless and unhelpful in the end. What matters is the expert execution and the feeling that this feature generates. Simply, it as enjoyable an animation that has been released all year and well worth the price of a cinema ticket.
for more film reviews: toomuchnoiseblog.com and www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall
Crossfire Hurricane (2012)
Can you sometimes get exactly what you want? The Rolling Stones turn the clock back on 50 years and open up the vaults. With mixed results.
It is high time for a look back on an illustrious career that has famously had more than its fair share of sex, drugs and rock n' roll. However, those looking for a Beatles Anthology-esque examination will be disappointed. This is more ramshackle than that, much like the band themselves. This is a concise one-off film of only 118 minutes. Considering it took director, Brett Morgan, four months to wade through the archive footage (with assistance from co-producer, Mick Jagger), it is a shame that he hasn't been minded to create a more sprawling work, befitting of the Stones' lengthy career. In fact, the documentary ends abruptly at around 1977, and offers nothing after this date, save for closing credit live footage of Exile On Main Street track 'All Down The Line' lifted from the 2008 film, Shine A Light.
Opening with colour backstage footage and a live rendition of 'Street Fighting Man', attention soon turns to the early days, and the maelstrom that consisted of live performance in the early and mid-60s for the Rolling Stones, with the incessant screaming and stage invasions. Emphasis is firmly placed on what it must have been like within this vortex, having to deal with a rapid ascent and devotional teenage girls (England) and boys (the rest of the world).
Whilst discussing the early period, coverage is given in a frank manner as to the band's feeling about the demise of original band member, Brian Jones. Whilst acknowledging his talent, it turns out that the band felt a degree of inevitability over his eventual death. Even though an element of mystery hangs over the drowning, Jones' relationship with drugs is well-known (Godard's film, Sympathy for the Devil, shows an induced and distracted Jones in the studio). As matters arose, the death came only two days before a free Hyde Park gig in front of 500,000 people - a gig that would mark a baptism of fire for new guitarist, Mick Taylor, and also act as a remembrance for Jones. Drummer Charlie Watts recalls Mick crying in the corner of the dressing room on the day of the performance. By contrast, Keith states that his reason for not going to the funeral is because he didn't want to make it 'a circus', and that he didn't even go to the funeral of his own mother and father.
Arriving at the late 60s, there are compelling scenes offered up by the Altamont stabbing of Meredith Hunter, but these are taken from the previously released feature, Gimme Shelter. This time around, however, it is enhanced by comments from the band looking back, which is illuminating seeing as it has since been perceived as the incident that killed the hippie dream and the anti-Woodstock.
Although the archive footage is interesting, there is not necessarily a dearth of unseen live material. The narrative itself is loosely played with, especially at the start, diverging down different avenues whilst vaguely seeking a chronological path (of sorts).
There are some interesting revelations contained within this documentary that will interest fans. For example, Mick Taylor finally provides the reason as to why he left the Stones. Jagger himself concedes that he did not know or understand why, and Taylor goes on to explain that during the early 70s, he was falling into heroin addiction.
Bill Wyman also distills what he believes is the sound of the Rolling Stones. Bearing a theory to Richards oft-quoted opinion that many bands can rock but not many can roll, he points towards the sound as being a consequence of Charlie's decision to follow Keith's lead, which means that the drums come in slightly behind the guitar, which is unusual in itself, whilst Bill's bass would be slightly ahead. Wyman describes this as leading to 'a wobble' effect, where things could fall apart at any given moment.
There is some interesting black and white footage of Mick and Keith writing material together in what is either backstage or in some sort of hotel room. Having an insight into how they worked together on the verge of what would be a particularly prolific part of their career is fascinating. Keith later voices opinion that of all the songs they wrote, 'Midnight Rambler' would be the essence of the Jagger/Richards writing partnership. He states a belief that anyone else could have written any of the other tunes, but only he and Mick would have thought about making an opera out of the blues.
Coincidentally, much like that tune, this is certainly a film goes on a ramble of its own. Starting in slightly messy fashion, like a band tuning up after a short time apart, and taking a while to lock into the groove. As far as flaws go, no reference is made at all to Ian Stewart, which seems a glaring omission considering this is an overview of the Rolling Stones' career and all the significant players. His distinctive piano work enhanced songs such as 'Brown Sugar', amongst many others, and his lack of appearance in this documentary feels unfair and a missed opportunity. Also, there is no real detail on the relationship the Stones had with manager Andrew Loog Oldham.
Introducing the film, Jagger congratulated Brett Morgan for managing to cover 50 years of the Stones in a couple of hours. Well, he hasn't managed that. He has covered 25 years pretty well, but with some gaping holes. Whether this is down to the Stones' reticence in opening up, or a lack of probing is anyones' guess.
I know it's only a rock n roll film, and you might not necessarily love it, but you'll probably like it.
for more film reviews: toomuchnoiseblog.com and www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall
Page One: Inside the New York Times (2011)
Documentary film-maker chronicles a year from within the walls of the New York Times..
The New York Times' problem is one facing thousands of papers across the globe; Why pay for a newspaper in a world where information is everywhere, instantly, and for free?
The grave tones of some of the witnesses jar the viewer into shock (and awe) at the reality of the threat facing these once powerful institutions. These are troubling times, make no mistake.
There is a good reason for the bulk of the film to focus on David Carr (a reformed drug addict who came to journalism at the age of 46, who now works for the paper). He stands out as a passionate spokesperson for the New York Times and the traditional media. He is an engaging presence and has a charisma. Unfortunately, however, the film struggles to contain an impulse to melodramatically delve in and out of his back story and this diminishes the impact of the piece.
The film suffers as a result. It leaps about too frequently, covering too many bases. This should have been a channelled, and terrifying, testimony to the precarious future of the print industry, and you do get the feeling that there is a riveting documentary beneath the murk.
Ultimately, although it stands as a fascinating insight into the day-to-day practices of a longstanding and famously influential printing giant, this film is, frustratingly, an opportunity missed.
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Bir Zamanlar Anadolu'da (2011)
Transience. Impermanence. Life. Death.
No doubt about it, this is a film that takes its time, unravelling slowly.
It is layered. Complex. Subtle.
There are many conversations exchanged that, on the surface, appear inconsequential. Early on, there is a protracted discussion in the police vehicle about types of yoghurt. The lengthy dispute does nothing to further the plot. It doesn't matter. What it does manage is to make the viewer feel like the characters are human and tangible. These opinions reflect real people and they engage with sincerity, just as people do in every day situations.
There are strong performances all round from the cast, who manage to reflect the complex make-up of the protagonists. The writers, Ebru Ceylan, Nuri Ceylan and Ercan Kesal, have succeeded in creating three dimensional characters who feel real, and come to the screen with a history. Thankfully, the cast's depictions are measured, understated yet emotionally effective. The photography, by Gökhan Tiryaki, is perfectly balanced too, capturing the natural beauty of the landscape without shying away from the gritty reality of the poverty burdened by many in the local community.
This is not a film for everyone. If a blockbuster represents your average 3 minute pop song, then this plays like a mellow symphony. The story moves along with a whisper, rather than a scream. It is a film that has been lovingly crafted with an assured confidence; Ceylan understands the necessity to 'show, not tell'.
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