A Suitable Obsession For The Old

JTC was a wise and amusing man, much my elder. He was a stalwart member and Honorary Life Vice President of our rugby club and, in his more decorous moments, a member of that great seat of affluenec, Little Aston Golf Club. Many years ago I was chatting to him at the bar and mused out loud that I might play more golf. Jim counselled me against this and uttered the sage words, 'play team games for as long as you can'. In this, as in so much else, Jim was right.

I played rugby until a week short of my forty-eighth birthday, by which time I was held together by strategically applied tape and over-medicated on anti-inflammatories. I loved close to every minute of it. I had played my last game of 1st XV rugby at forty and thereafter grew old gracelessly.  

I mention this only because I spent a fun two hours this morning on the practice ground at Clwb Golff Ynys Mon. I was merely tatting around and it was only when I switched on my computer just now that I noticed the date (a boon in being elderly is that the date is a matter of only passing import) - tomorrow is the fifty-first anniversary of my first game of golf. Founder's Day 1974. I love golf in all its infuriating detail but my advice, should you choose to hear it, remains, play team games as long as you can. 

Spirit Of Monochrome

The first time I saw Alastair Sim's performance as Scrooge was in a lamentable 'colorized' version of the movie. I next saw it in a sharp, restored monochrome edition. The second viewing was all the better for restoration to its original format.

I mention this only because I am a bit of a fan of black and white film stock. Amongst the many things I tell myself I am going to get around to doing, is to buy a decent camera and use it to take atmpospheric black and white pictures. Of course I will probably never get around to this but a man can/should dream. 

All of which brings me to four excellent monchrome films I have watched recently. I may be an old romantic but I think each of them is better for being shot in monochrome. I will turn first to David Lean's 1946 adaptation of Great Expectations - this is a top grade movie, previously reviewed here and I confirm my past prejudice to give it 85/100.

Lean was at it again in 1953 with the screen rendition of Hobson's Choice. Atmospheric monochrome magic. The quietly brilliant John Mills is once again the youthful hero. As for Hobson himself (a part for which I would break my unlamented stage retirement) this role falls into the hyper-capable hands of Charles Laughton. 86/100. 

Another reliably excellent actor is Henry Fonda and he has the conscience-stricken lead in 1957's Twelve Angry Men. This is a claustrophobic masterpiece that speaks gradually louder as to the importance of the rule of law. In an age where the President of the United States clearly has no conception of the rule of law, this is a film that cries out to be re-watched. Innocent and not-gulity are not the same thing. 88/100. 

I have talked of reliable imprimaturs - Lean, Laughton, Fonda. Today's last film comes courtesy of another such, or more accurately another two such - Powell and Pressburger. The Small Back Room. Although not nearly in the class of their gloriously colourful classics, A Matter of Life and Death, and Colonel Blimp, The Small Back Room is a taut monochrome dissection of trauma and courage. 79/100.

Monochrome. all that glisters is not gold.   

The Bankruptcy Of A Genius

The genius of whom I speak is Jacques Tati and his financial catastrophe was brought about by the financial demands of his magnificent comedic confection, Playtime.

This film invites you to laugh at the noble silliness of Tati's M. Hulot as he winds in and out of the widescreen modernity of Paris. The dialogue is a glorious mishmash of English and French but the spoken word operates merely as a backing track. I will not spoil any of the recurring gags by describing them because if you get the chance to see this film, I fervently urge you to do so. In the end modernity cannot quell the very human ability to have a good time. In our scarred present, this is a bold tonic. 90/100.   

The Tolkien Franchise

If J.R.R. Tolkien is looking down on us, I wonder if he is rueful about the abundance of riches that have been showered on the hugely significant but lesser literary figure of J.K. Rowling. This (admittedly not very novel) thought occurred the other day as I watched the Japanese Anime stylings of Lord of the Rings: the War of the Rohirrim. 

I have ben immune to the Anime bug but I have to admit that this bit of cartoonery was perfectly passable fun. Nuance and violence nicely mixed, which seems to me to be a fair description of Tolkien's lore. 69/100.
  

Noblesse Oblige And Other Dead Reckonings

Not that I think it causes you any worry but this blog is hard to write these days. I find myself mired in a contrary sludge of happiness and apathy. Happiness at my own good fortune and apathy about the state of local and global politics. We may be going to Hell in a handcart but at least Big Fat Pig has got a nice cart. 

I used to be an employer of a reasonable number of people. I hope I took my responsibilities seriously. Actually let's put false modesty aside, I know I did. Virtue, in this respect at least, is its own reward. Not a point that self-appointed class warriors ever appreciate. I do believe in noblesse oblige even if that makes me a patrician old fart. This is not a point that Donald Trump would understand, even if he could speak French.

His Vileness the Donald is on his second state visit to the UK. Realpolitk perhaps makes this necessary but I would prefer that the odious one not be here. We have, as a country, played host to plenty of worse dictators but we are entitled to expect better from our 'closest ally'. America should know better. Noblesse oblige.

Prince Harry and Meghan Markle - what a pair of tone deaf grifters. I won't bother wasting virtual ink on Prince Andrew and his horrendous ex-wife.

The rule of law. What happened to that as the underpinning of true sovereignty? 

Apathy overwhelms once again. I can't be arsed to moan any further. Take my advice - seek out healthy institutions of any size and concentrate your good offices on their survival. If we all refuse to be worn down by the mediocrities (this is being generous) who govern us and do our small bit, then hope exists.  

   

A Better Space Odyssey

I have been looking back at the various mentions I have made over the years of the alleged masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey. I addressed my difficulty with that film in an entry dated 11 October 2019 and gave it a rating of 6.5/10. More interesting than that is the fact that I trace references to it in most other reviews I have posted of science fiction movies. So whatever I have to say (which I accept is of minute significance) about 2001, I have to concede that its influence is far-reaching and that, even to a sceptic like me, it is the reference point for sci-fi.

All of which is a very round-about way of introducing a space movie that I think is better than 2001. Ad Astra (2019) is not without its longeurs but it holds its own as an odyssey played out in the vastness of outer space. It has Brad Pitt giving his best performance and it has the highly estimable Tommy Lee Jones in support playing the enigmatic father Pitt goes in search of. 79/100.  

Cinema Paradiso

I have previously disclosed my misanthropic objection to attending cinemas. Modern home screen facilities are so good that there is little enough reason for me to mend my ways. But I accept that I ought to try. Anyway, enough of that and, via one of my characteristic diversions, I will tell you about two movies recently viewed.

But first that diversion. I am here on the island and sitting proud in the bookcase (note to self: we need a new bookcase) is my copy of Halliwell's Film Guide (2nd Edition), a present, I note from the inscription, from the Groupie on my twenty-third birthday. This was a long time ago. A very long time. I was musing (to myself, no one else listens) about the essay Leslie Halliwell appended to his edition titled The Decline and Fall of the Movie. Writing at the turn of the seventies into the eighties, Halliwell found himself dismayed at what he perceived as the film industry's collapse into self-indulgent meretriciousness. He had a point although his ambivalence about the early work of Martin Scorsese is a point of view from which I hasten to distance myself. Reading it again at this distance, I am pleased to be able to report that fine films are still being crafted. I'll give you a couple of examples (one of which pre-dates Halliwell's pessimistic essay) of good craftsmanship.

Young Winston (1972) tells (without being too hagiographic) the early life of Winston Churchill. It is engaging despite some  asides to camera (disguised as responses to an out-of-shot journo) that really don't work. Despite that it is, as Halliweel might have it, well crafted 62/100.

And now for something of a much higher order and a suitable riposte to Halliwell's pessimism - A picture that is concise, witty, amusing and provocative. And in case you protest - yes I know it's not intended to be accurate history. But it is clever (Stoppard and Norman wrote the script) and keeps you on your toes. We have, I suppose, to skate around the fact that it was produced by the odious Harvey Goldstein. 84/100.