ALICE IN WONDERLAND

Despite a circling sense of critical apathy centred about this film, it’s still clear that director Tim Burton has lost nothing of his visual flair. There are a number of moments in this film that stun in their technical beauty. I thought the Chesire Cat was particularly well done and that Wonderland itself (or Underland as it comes to be known in this movie) was realised in an interesting and visually arresting manner. Unfortunately for Alice all CGI worlds now have the misfortune of being judged in the shadow of James Cameron’s Avatar. If your fantasy movie world doesn’t have giant blue men and plants that glow to the touch then you’re doing something wrong.

Of course, this is absolute nonsense – I’d love to see what Tim Burton could come up with if he were granted a project with an Avataresque budget. There’s no doubting Burton’s standing as one of the foremost creative talents still cashing his cheques in Hollywood. Moreover, Lewis Caroll’s Adventures in Wonderland is one of the great uniquely imaginative works. Caroll effortlessly conjures up a fantastically childish yet dangerous world in which the extraordinary shakes hands with the banal. Nothing sums this up better, I would suggest, than the image of a smoking caterpillar. You can’t help but feel that Tim Burton should be in his element here. One curiously inventive spirit drawing off the work of another creative soul in order to create what should be some deliciously entertaining popcorn fodder – what could go wrong?

Being a smart cookie and not wishing to obstruct his own creative freedom, Burton opted against a straight adaption of one of Caroll’s works. Indeed, in an effort to further eradicate any prior expectations upon entering the film, we are told that this is not Wonderland – upon her first visit Alice (played this time round by Mia Wasikowska) misheard the name, which is, in fact, Underland. It must have been decided somewhere down the line that the film’s title Alice in Wonderland would pull in more customers than Alice in Underland or the simple but effective Alice. Since the producers clearly didn’t have the courage in their conviction I too shall refer to Underland as Wonderland to avoid confusion.

Alice, now 19 years old, is presented as a woman out of time. At least the script strains to make this apparent – we know that she is somewhat anachronistic because she refuses to wear stockings and gains no satisfaction from conversing with the local dignitaries. The problem, it seems, is rooted in her rather wild imagination. Disillusioned with her real life – where she is proposed to by the goofy Hamish Ascot (Leo Bill) she neglects her responsibilities to chase a white rabbit in a waistcoat down a rabbit hole and back into Wonderland. Alice whose memory cannot recollect her past adventures in Wonderland believes she is in a dream world, full of surreal images and talking animals. It soon becomes clear that Alice is to play an important role in shaping the future of Wonderland – it is she that is prophesised to slay the Jabberwocky and put an end to the tumultuous civil war between the nefarious Red Queen (Helena Bonham Carter) and the commendable White Queen.

Despite confessing that I was subject to a number of bewitching images and sequences, the overall mood and tone of this film often feels way off kilter. To put it simply, Wonderland is just too glum – In Burtonian terms it can be too Sleepy Hollow when it should be Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Wonderland should awaken in us a sense of childish glee, instead the world it evokes is an ominous and morose place – almost as if the gothic trappings of Mike Leigh’s Vera Drake bled through onto an otherwise pleasant aesthetic. I understand that all good fantasy worlds have their shades of grey, but for my liking, there are one or two too many withered trees in Wonderland. The proceedings aren’t helped by 3D glasses which suck out about a third of the colour from the screen making the colour palette appear even more lifeless than it already is.

Whilst impressed by the Chesire Cat, Maynard the dog and a couple of other CGI critters, I was not left with an overall sense of satisfaction. Tweedledee and Tweedledum (to whom Matt Lucas lends both his voice and his face) have their character model absurdly inflated to the extent that they lose their reality (even in the sense of a fantastic reality – a sense of realism is equally important in a fantasy world, to prevent the whole piece feeling like something of a damp squib). This is equally the case with Absolem the caterpillar, the white rabbit and the various other animals that occupy the story. The failure of the CGI in this respect has the effect of drawing the audience out of the story and disrupting what should be a smooth viewing experience. The story itself is a barebones affair which fails to offer the visuals any heft or weight. We’ve seen the whole ‘hero comes between two warring factions’ plotline a number of times before and Alice in Wonderland adds nothing new to the proceedings.

Mia Wasikowska makes for a good Alice, approaching every challenge with a kind of steely innocence. It’s a performance that’s all the more impressive given that much of her performance would have been spent framed by a blue screen as she talks to a designated mark somewhere on the floor. Johnny Depp a Burton regular has some fun putting his spin on the Mad Hatter. Yet it’s Helena Bonham Carter who steals the show, seemingly treating her performance as a homage to Miranda Richardson in Blackadder Season 2. It is she alone that seems to tap into just the right level of creepiness, oddness and humour.

WORLD'S GREATEST DAD

Don’t be misled by the title. Don’t be misled by the posters. They merely show that Hollywood suits simply have no clue how to market a film which deals with issues as complex as those found within World’s Greatest Dad. It’s something of a relief that director Bobcat Goldthwait (what a great name) is in better control of his material than the men behind the advertising campaign. This movie could have been such a mess if handled incorrectly; instead it comes across as nothing less than a glorious success. Just don’t go in expecting a light-hearted romp in the same vein as William’s schlocky family comedies Patch Adams or What Dreams May Come. The title actually invoked in me expectations similar to those brought about by Will Smith’s The Pursuit of Happyness, but this is way off mark too. In that film a series of challenges were laid out before Will Smith who was able to come through and ensure that he could provide for his kid. In short, he proved himself to be a great dad. Robin William’s, in response to the challenges in World’s Greatest Dad, proves himself to be an exploitative grief-hound who manipulates his son’s death to serve his own ends.

Whereas The Pursuit of Happyness attempted to be life-affirming through the overcoming of hardships, World’s Greatest Dad is life-affirming in an equally unsubtle way: through contrasting life with death. It is about the way death shapes those who are still living – how it can give direction to some and take it from others. This is a comedy about the cult of suicide and as such it’s slightly staggering how many laughs it’s good for. This can only be down to Bobcat Goldthwait’s controlled direction – he is in control of the tone throughout. The proceedings never feel overwrought or as if they are trying to manipulate a reaction from the audience. All Goldthwait expects from us is that we laugh and have a good time. Of course the film’s subject matter makes it easy to find a message in the film, but it in no way demands that we do so.

Lance Clayton (Williams) is a single father and failed author who provides for his unruly teenage-son Kyle (Daryl Sabara, who has come a long way since the Spy Kids movies). The boy is a true brat – I doubt there’s a son in a movie as undeniably puerile, immoral and reprehensible this side of 1976’s The Omen. He bullies and manipulates everybody that he can – this includes his dad and his only friend Andrew (Evan Martin). He has a dirty mouth – “Andrew, you have to understand that fucking pussy's virgin shit, alright”. He is without any discernable interests (he hates both movies and music) beyond playing videogames and onanism. It’s his bad habits and his penchant for autoerotic asphyxiation that proves his undoing. One evening his father returns home from a date with a flakey fellow school-teacher, to see Kyle’s body perched lifelessly in front of his computer. To protect Kyle’s dignity he types up a suicide note which is soon leaked across the school where he works.

Death, it is well known, has a funny way of romanticising a person. All the kids who wouldn’t have anything to do with Kyle up until that point (and who could blame them) upon reading his suicide note realise what a delicate soul the boy truly was. Kyle’s PR is never stronger than it is after his death and an outpouring of love spreads throughout the school. Sensing an opportunity, Lance writes and publishes diaries he claims to be written by his son. He manipulates the grief of those around him for sex, money and fame. Despite committing loathable acts we never come to loath Lance himself – in some respects these people deserve to be manipulated – they didn’t know or like Kyle up until this point, they have merely been enticed by the cult of suicide. They worship not the Kyle that existed in reality, but the phantom idealized Kyle that resides only in their minds.

The controlled tone of the movie is moved along by a bravura comedic performance from William’s. It’s his best film for quite some time, perhaps since 2002’s Insomnia. You only wish that William’s would push himself harder and seek out more films as edgy and dark as this instead of the blunted, watered-down family fare we’re most used to seeing him in. With movies like this, Insomnia and One Hour Photo, he’s certainly proved himself capable of tackling meaty roles. World’s Greatest Dad is not perfect by any means. The ending feels unearned and forced. Lance’s moral u-turn towards the end of the film happens too quickly - almost ex nihilo. The music was also somewhat off-putting at times. Beyond the excess of Bruce Hornsby, the soundtrack also has central roles for ‘Don’t Be Afraid You’re Already Dead’ by Akron/Family and ‘I Hope I Become a Ghost’ by The Deadly Syndrome. Despite the song titles, neither really fit in with the tone or tempo of the film. These considerations do not stop me from heartily recommending World’s Greatest Dad, one of 2010’s best comedies.

WILD TARGET

A very British failure. You would expect director Jonathan Lynn to be able to engineer more laughs than he does here. He’s the man behind the marvellous My Cousin Vinny and was a co-writer for Yes, Minister. Yet there’s not a laugh in the whole film – what went wrong? Lynn even managed to rope in some fantastic British talent, young and old – Rupert Grint, Emily Blunt, Martin Freeman and Bill Nighy. The presence of such respectable actors in this thing only serves to increase the sense of disappointment. What attracted them to such a dull uninventive script - how did this thing receive funding - what quality control was there and the most important of these rhetorical questions: why does this film exist?

It can’t be because the people behind it believed themselves to be in possession of an engaging or original story. We’ve seen it a number of times before: an aging hitman on his last job falls in love with the mark. Not only have we seen it before, but we’ve seen it done much better – just consider this year’s The American. Ironically, that film works because of its slow burning, patient, dare I say British sensibility. Wild Target on the other hand plays mostly for laughs without actually providing any.

Victor Maynard (Bill Nighy) is part emotionally stunted mommy’s boy and part ruthless hitman on the verge of retirement. His last target is Rose (Emily Blunt) a manipulative con-girl who has a habit of weaselling her way out of dangerous situations. This triggers a drawn-out sequence where Victor trails the unknowing Rose through the streets of London whilst presented with a variety of obstructions and distractions which prevent him from doing his job. At one stage he believes he has her cornered in a changing room. He pulls out a silenced-pistol and fires three quick shots into the cubicle. We hear a yelp of pain through the curtain and the camera pans out to show Rose walking away, having left the cubicle from the other side. Accidental murder: hilarious.

The chase only serves to somehow endear young Rose to Victor, who finds himself unable to finish the hit. He vows instead to protect Rose from the hitmen that will be sent after her when news of his failure spreads. The film strains to introduce Tony (Rupert Grint) to the proceedings, who is set-up as a kind of apprentice figure to Victor. Unfortunately he cuts a completely extraneous figure – he has no character arc whatsoever, learns nothing over the course of the film and fails to develop in any way. For evidence of his complete superfluity see the overly-smug last scene where you can’t help but wonder – what is he still doing here? This isn’t so much an attack on Rupert Grint, who I like, but more so on the script which introduces characters without granting them a personality or any natural conclusion (see also Rupert Everett’s character).

The relationships between the three central characters are also problematic. You never believe in the burgeoning romance between Bill Nighy (60) and Emily Blunt (27). At all stages the characters just appear to be going through the motions. The script demands that Victor falls for Rose so he does. If Lynn didn’t believe the ‘why’ was important here, he was mistaken – in the case of May-November relationships such as this you cannot simply account for things on the basis of an inexplicable physical attraction. On what level is Rose attracted to Victor? Is it an intellectual or spiritual attraction? Despite having sat through this film, without invoking the Electra complex, I can honestly say that I have no idea. This is to say nothing of the awkward father-son relationship between Victor and Tony. The nadir of this affiliation is reached in the unspeakable ‘bathroom scene’ where Victor, confused by his feelings for Rose, confesses to the naked Tony that he’s worried he is growing attracted to him.

On a more positive note, Martin Freeman who is so adept at playing the everyman (Tim in The Office, Watson in Sherlock) is given the opportunity to do something a little different and manages to shine almost as much as his unnaturally white teeth in his role as a toothy thug-for-hire. Rupert Everett also has fun in a rather limited role. It’s a shame then, that the main players Nighy, Blunt and Grint are so wasted in this film. It has the feel of a John Cleese or Rowan Atkinson vehicle – perhaps in the vein of Clockwise or Johnny English and yet it isn’t as good as either of those two (average) films. The whole thing just feels dated and it is held back by an unimaginative cliché-ridden script. If the British film industry is to be pulled out of its slump its produce must be much better than this. Yet, there is still hope for the future – see The Disappearance of Alice Creed a dark, twisty gem of a film and evidence that there are people at work in the British film industry who are capable of making great films.

EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP

Revolving around a central question: ‘What constitutes art?’ Exit Through the Gift Shop leads its audience through corridors of deception, drawing us in with its guerrilla imagery whilst simultaneously keeping us at hands length through the seed of doubt that it plants in our minds. Unquestionably the premiere and most popular street artist, Banksy has made a name for himself by creating witty and subversive works of art. He’s a notoriously tricky customer, which placed him somewhat on the back-foot when it came to releasing this, his first feature film. After all, those with a knowledge of Banksy will be watching thinking ‘Can I take what this man has to say seriously?’ or ‘Am I being duped here?’ He has effectively raised our collective guards before we even enter the cinema. The only way to combat this or to at least make the question irrelevant is to make an entertaining film and the film is entertaining because it focuses on the question of what separates a creative spirit from a true artist.

Street art itself has been the subject of many ‘yes, but is it art’ type articles, so it’s fitting that Banksy should explore similar issues. Yet he pushes the issue somewhat further, elucidating the way that mass-manufactured ‘art’ – art created without passion – can beguile and exploit the naiveté of casual art fans. At one stage Banksy declares himself uncertain of the moral of his film. Yet to me a message seeps through this film loud and clear: a thing is of value only when it is created with genuine love – when it manages to impart a piece of the creator’s soul. Without this, a piece of work cannot constitute a work of art.

The film opens with a killer montage of various street artists at work (I’ve still got Richard Hawley’s ‘Tonight the Streets Are Ours’ swimming somewhere through my head) before we are introduced to Thierry Guetta a Frenchmen residing in Los Angeles and Exit Through the Gift Shop’s focus. Guetta is portrayed as an obsessive - first he is obsessed with his camera and the two of them are never seen apart. Through it he documents every aspect of his life, including interactions with his cousin, the street-artist Space Invader. Blundering his way into the world of street art he obtains the role of documentarian of the street artist through perseverance rather than any skill with the camera. He eventually gets into contact with the elusive Banksy who allows Guetta to film him at work – but only from the behind. Banksy suggests that Exit Through the Gift Shop was originally set to be the product of Guetta’s efforts behind the camera as he photographed these street artists at work, but he found Guetta such a fascinating character that the focus of the film switched onto him instead. Indeed. Thankfully we get to see the apparent product of Guetta’s directorial labours – Life Remote Control, a film-within-a-film and a hilariously over-the top piece of film-making. If this is truly Guetta’s doing then it comes off as a failed attempt to appear ‘edgy’ and eye-catching, but, if the footage is edited together by Banksy then it must be regarded as a fun take on the way directors try to maintain the attention of their disinterested ADD-infected audiences.

Not content with merely following these artists around, Guetta seeks to become a street artist in his own right. Adopting the moniker ‘Mr Brainwash’, he takes to copying the works of the street artists he claims to admire. This transformation culminates with Mr Brainwash engineering his debut art show ‘Life is Beautiful’. The show exhibits his work (createdly mostly by a team of worker-elves), which varies from a ‘range’ of Elvis’s brandishing toy guns, various celebrities adorned with a Marilyn-wigs and the Campbell’s soup-can transformed into a spray-can. Beyond the fact that Guetta doesn’t seem to be doing any of the work himself, it’s quite clear that there’s nothing as daring or interesting as Banksy’s best works (of which we see plenty throughout this film and yet never feel like he is the perpetrator of some gimmick, which cannot be said for Guetta) or as influential as Shepard Fairy’s blue-red-Hope campaign poster for Obama. This doesn’t prevent pieces of art being snapped up by keen street-art enthusiasts and Guetta’s show being extended for a number of months. Hell, Madonna even let him design the cover art for her latest Greatest Hits album.

Exit Through the Gift Shop’s authenticity is much debated. I cannot help but feel that an artist with Banksy’s nature would be discontent with a simple documentary even one with as interesting a subject matter as this. The desire to impart one’s own unique artistic flair onto the project would be too strong. It could also be argued that Thierry Guetta’s Mr Brainwash is too clumsy, to oafish and too much of a sheep to have pulled anything like this off himself. We are never presented with any footage of Guetta creating his Banksy rip-offs. Instead we see him walk into a lamppost, fall off a ladder and have to be wheeled to the car on a desk chair. He comes across as something of an oaf. Real or not, the film works as a send up of art culture and the bastardization of the works of Andy Warhol and pop art in general through those looking to make a quick buck. As Banksy says “Warhol repeated iconic images until they became meaningless, but there was still something iconic about them. Thierry really makes them meaningless.” That’s the failing of so many wannabe artists, be they authors, directors or painters – they realise that something is great, but aren’t sure why. As a result their copies can only ever be pale imitations.

AMADEUS

Sometimes the ambitious nature of a project is enough to put one off it. After all ambition can lead to a film’s being overwrought and over-thought. Amadeus cannot help but appear somewhat over-ambitious. It’s a biopic of one of the greatest musicians to have ever lived, it’s a story about the nature of envy – of how mediocrity is born and in turn destroyed in the shadow of brilliance and it moves forward with a kind of agitated energy changing its mood whenever it pleases. At one moment it’s a simple period piece, next it’s a romantic comedy, then it’s a meditation on mediocrity before it finally bleeds into a kind of murder mystery. This kind of enterprise, although admirable can often derail a film – I’m thinking of the overlong and overblown sweeping historical epics such as Kingdom of Heaven or Troy which aim high but fall flat. These considerations combined with Amadeus’ bum-aching three hour running time (if you’re watching the director’s cut – which you must) prevented me from popping this film in the DVD player.

But I’m damn glad I did get around to it. After about 15 minutes my worries and presuppositions were dashed and I knew that director Milos Foreman was in complete control of the material. He expertly handles the changes in tone and pace, crafting film both visually stunning and emotionally affecting. Amadeus is not about Mozart – at least not in any direct sense. It is a film about greatness and its antithesis - a story of inferiority and jealousy. Antonio Salieri, born 1750, was an Italian composer and a devoted subject of the Hasburg Monarchy who exercised a great deal of influence in the development of 18th century opera. He also suffered the grave misfortune of living in the same time and place as a certain Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

When we first observe Salieri (F. Murray Abraham) he is a broken suicidal old man, living in Vienna circa 1823, who is racked with guilt believing that he is responsible for the death of Mozart (Tom Hulce) some thirty years ago. He is soon moved into an asylum where he offers up his full confession to a somewhat out-of-his-depths Priest. Amadeus is this confession. From a young age Salieri’s love for music and desire to progress were hampered by the imprudence of his business-minded father. He barters with God: a life devoted to his one true love – music, in return for his celibacy. The untimely death of his father sees Salieri climb through the ranks of Vienna’s cultural elite earning a position as court composer for Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones). Despite his ascension he finds himself unable to hit upon any sense of satisfaction as his progress is seemingly mocked at every step by the precocious ability of a young man whose talent both haunts and obsesses Salieri. As a young boy, Mozart plays concerts for dignified nobles whilst blindfolded. As a young-man Mozart is observed in the court of the Archbishop by Salieri to be impertinent and tardy but also supremely talented. A spark of envy is born within Salieri.

Whilst Salieri is presented to us as a competent enough composer it is clear he recognises both the limits of his own abilities and the unrestrained strength of Mozart’s ability. His trouble results not from his own mediocrity but from his ability to discern genius – to understand what it is about Mozart’s music that makes it great, without ever being able to achieve this greatness for himself. That’s what makes this film universally relatable. We are not always able to relate to greatness since the majority of us will never experience it for ourselves, but everybody strives for it. If what Mark Twain has to say is true – that human live is made worth living through the respect and favour of our neighbours, (in a wide sense) then it must be equally true that we seek to obtain this respect through our own unique brilliance or individuality. The urge to stand-out from the crowd whilst also maintaining the rights to be a part of this crowd is present within us all. In this respect Salieri is an everyman character, a man of ample talents, but also – fatally – a man whose skill set is sadly lacking in comparison to the bloke down the street who seems to have it all.

When his attempts to prevent Mozart’s rise to prominence in Vienna fails, Salieri attempts to take from Mozart everything he holds dear. He does this by using the only quality over which he is a better master than the seemingly naive Mozart – his cunning. He attempts to corrupt Mozart’s wife Constanze (the beautiful Elizabeth Berridge) almost succeeding but falling at the last hurdle, hoisted by his last remaining virtue: his obedience to God. More successful is his attempt to take Mozart’s patrons by painting a picture of him as a disorderly drunk with an eye for young ladies. Soon enough with his family’s expenses on the rise and his commissions decreasing Mozart begins to cut an increasingly desperate and disturbed figure. This opens the door for Salieri to unleash upon Mozart his master plan. Wearing an ominous mask and cloak combination to hide his identity he offers Mozart a considerable sum of money on the condition that he complete a requiem mass. Exhausted and weak, yet desperate for cash, Mozart accepts the stranger’s terms.

In fact, Salieri’s plan is to do away with Mozart on the completion of the requiem (what would become the Requiem Mass in D Minor) and claim the composition as his own. This is his opportunity to claim the respect and admiration that he feels due to him. Through working on The Magic Flute and the Requiem at the same time, Mozart’s exhaustion worsens until he is left bed-ridden. This leads to the film’s best scene (albeit one which requires us to suspend our prior beliefs) where Salieri tricks the frail Mozart into working on his Requiem. Mozart conjures instrumental arrangements and orchestral movements off the top of his head whilst the ‘spiritually ravenous’ Salieri struggles to get all the details onto paper. The combination of Mozart’s enormous – almost supernatural talent and his naivety is almost too much to bear. Despite all of Salieri’s malicious deeds Mozart reaffirms their friendship: “I thought you did not care for my work - or me. Forgive me. Forgive me!” and asks Salieri to stick by his bedside throughout the night. Eventually Mozart’s heart gives out, perhaps through exhaustion or an acute rheumatic fever.

Many years later Salieri accepts the blame for his death. Whilst we as an audience can accept that he is worthy of the blame for pointing Mozart towards his own grave, it is difficult to view Salieri as a repugnant or morally-vacant man. After all, he claims, “I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint” and it is we, the great mediocre masses that he speaks for. In many ways his actions are just the ones we commit every day when we place our own progression over and above that of others, but pushed to an extreme. This is a film about Salieri and yet the film’s title takes Mozart’s middle name. The reason behind this is important: Amadeus is latin for ‘God’s beloved’. Whilst God’s love permeates throughout Mozart by way of his seemingly beyond-human talents, Salieri is a man forsaken by God – a man who through no fault of his own and despite an abundance of passion cannot make his voice heard.

Tom Hulce’s portrayal of Mozart is an interesting one. His Mozart is lewd and bawdy – he drinks too much and has little respect for the monarchy or the state. He wears expensive clothes, dyed wigs and attends decadent parties. He is, in short, a rockstar. Then there’s that laugh. I can see why some might deem his performance as ‘too big’ but it worked for me. In a film where little time is given to Mozart’s biographical details, it is the character of Mozart himself which must stand out and remain memorable at the films end and to this extent Hulce is successful. But this is P. F. Abraham’s show from beginning to end. His every emotion is so clearly etched upon Salieri’s evocative face – be it admiration, guilt or self-loathing, Abraham cannot help but make us feel sorry for this creep. Despite playing the bitter straight-man to Hulce’s Mozart, Abraham crafts a character who is just as memorable and a number of times more affecting.

POLTERGEIST

I cannot say with absolute certainty who made this film. Was it Tobe Hooper of Texas Chainsaw Massacre fame whose hard-hearted, low-budget and high-thrills style of directing was tempered by Spielberg’s maudlin sentimentality? Or was Poltergeist helmed primarily by Spielberg who was influenced by the controlled restraint of Hooper? There still remains a great deal of ambiguity from cast and crew members about who was really pulling the reins on this project. Spielberg had this to say about Hooper soon after the film’s release:

“Through the screenplay you accepted a vision of this very intense movie from the start, and as the director, you delivered the goods. You performed responsibly and professionally throughout.”

So why then does this movie feel remarkably Spielbergian in style? It follows a number of established Spielberg themes, such as family, loss, innocence and the supernatural. It does not have the brisk documentarian feel of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Salem’s Lot and is similar in style to the polished E.T or the first half of Close Encounters of a Third Kind. Spielberg’s contract with Universal contained a clause dictating that he was not to direct another movie whilst prepping E.T for release in the summer of 1982. By positioning Hooper as the de facto director of Poltergeist, Spielberg had a means to evade this clause and put out two pieces of work that summer. In defence of Hooper it might be noted that his next film Lifeforce, despite not being particularly good was distinctly Spielbergian in style which goes to show he was capable of pulling something like Poltergeist off, especially with help from the man himself. The fact that this debate is still raging almost thirty years after the film’s release is just one of the interesting things about this film and its creative process.

I look at it this way: film-making is by its nature a collaborative process. It’s thus clear that both Spielberg and Hooper had some input. The truth of the matter though, is that the idea for Poltergeist found its genesis in Spielberg’s mind and the film itself bears the distinguished style and mainstream sensibility that was typical of his films. Combining this inclination with the testimony of cast and crew, one cannot shake the feeling that this is indeed Spielberg’s baby.

The film itself is great fun. It follows the trials and tribulations of the Freeling family whose quiet suburban life is interrupted by the introduction of a group of mischievous ghosts into their home. At first their activities seem relatively benevolent – they communicate with 5-year-old Carol Anne (Heather O’Rourke) through the TV, they leave the kitchen chairs in cheerleader formation and generate a supernatural slip-slide across the kitchen floor. Soon enough, however their behaviour worsens and they hold Carol Anne captive in a portal in her bedroom closet. The dismayed Freeling’s consisting of Mum, Dad and Carol Anne’s two older siblings must now compete with these super-natural forces and battle for the return of their loved one.

What’s most effective about Poltergeist is that it manages to be both creepy and shocking in a manner that never comes off as being mean-spirited or sullen. That it manages to preserve a degree of family-friendliness throughout – despite talk of Indian burial grounds and killer clown dolls is also impressive. It takes its suburban setting and runs with it: we see beds twirl, television sets flicker on and off and cutlery and croquery whizz through the air. This really is worlds away from the wild south of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

As with any Spielberg film you get a sense of togetherness and family which grants Poltergeist its emotional heft and ensures you root for the Freeling family. Craig T. Nelson does a grand job portraying papa Freeling’s self-destructive meltdown driven by his failure to protect his family. The real star here though is JoBeth Williams who plays mama Freeling. She is clearly devastated by the loss of her daughter yet remains strong and stable in order to keep her family together amidst the on-going pandemonium. In a particularly physical scene William’s is tossed back and forth through her bedroom by the poltergeists wearing nothing but her underwear and an orange pyjama top. Whilst it’s never made entirely clear what the poltergeists are after in this scene, it’s moments like this one and a particularly Hooper-esque scene where papa Freeling stands in front of the bathroom mirror and his distorted mind shows his face melt off its skull, that prevent the film being entirely family friendly. I certainly don’t recommend showing this film to anybody under the age of 12.

Poltergeist feels very much of its generation: the organic special effects, the warm, inviting suburban setting, the simple yet effective dialogue. These all turn out to be good things and add to the film’s natural charm. I just wish that Spielberg, who proved himself adept at providing spooks in both this film and Jaws, would turn his hand to a project like this again. He has a talent for horror that does not come at the expense of the film’s warmth and that is a priceless asset.

SOPHIE'S CHOICE

Distasteful, cynical Holocausploitation or a thoughtful and effective character piece? Sophie’s Choice is a film which tends to split its viewership right down the centre. For some it is a ponderous drama which invokes the Holocaust as a means of adding emotional stakes which it quite simply hasn’t earned. For others it is a performance piece which works because Streep is at her most devastating best. For me, I am somewhat disappointingly in the middle. I really wanted to feel strongly about the film one way or another, but the story failed to grab me. There is of course that central performance by Streep but beyond that this is a dry, dull affair which hints at an engaging philosophical discussion, but fails to follow through on it.

To clarify, I don’t believe that filmmakers should be barred from ‘invoking’ the Holocaust or any other piece of humanity’s violent history. To do so would be the worst of slippery slopes – if we cannot mention certain acts in film, why should we be able to mention them in books or in other media outlets? Humanity’s history is both brutal and congenial. It is good and evil, and this duality simply must be reflected in the films we watch, the books we read and the pieces of art we see. The problem in creating a work of art that deals with something like the Holocaust, whether it is a film or not, is to avoid utilising these abhorrent historical acts in any exploitative manner. That is, their inclusion in the story must not be gratuitous – it must be at the very heart of the film, it must serve a point and it must capture the full horror of the event. Should it fail to do these things, the surplus of critical opinion will be against it, media outlets will turn on it and audiences will revile it. Film-makers know the stakes involved in making a Holocaust film and know the penalty involved for not bringing their A-game. We act as the regulating force.

This brings me to Sophie’s Choice. I’ve read a couple of very damning articles which position this film as crass and exploitative. But it’s not enough to just give it that label, even if you rally hard against it and manage to loquaciously convey the reasons that it failed to work for you. Get down to the nitty-gritty: why was this exploitative whilst something like Schindler’s List wasn’t? Perhaps your complaint is that Alan J. Pakula’s film reduces the colossal tragedy of the Holocaust by eclipsing it with a melodramatic post-war love story? If this is the case then I believe you are looking at the film in the wrong manner; it is not a Holocaust film – it is a film about the aftermath of a great tragedy that operates on a personal level, without failing at the same time to acknowledge the great pain and suffering that plagued everybody involved. It is a film about an individual who learns to live on after undergoing intolerable torment and insurmountable guilt. So, unlike those who find this film in some ways exploitative, I find its overall pursuit admirable.

Anybody who has heard of Sophie’s Choice but is yet to see it will likely think one of two things: “Oh, that’s the film where Meryl Streep gives a great performance” or “isn’t that the film where Sophie has to decide which of her kids to give up to the Nazi’s”? Whilst both are true, the second statement fails to capture the overall essence of the film. The ‘choice’ scene is shown in a flashback and is over and done in about a minute and a half. Screen time is given instead to post-war Brooklyn where aspiring novelist Stingo (Peter MacNicol) moves into a room in a boarding house just below that which belongs to Sophie Zawistowski (Meryl Streep) and her lover Nathan Landau (Kevin Kline). The three of them become fast-friends and it’s not long until Nathan’s jealous tendencies and bi-polar personality bubble to the surface. As the story progresses we see flashbacks from Sophie’s life, learning about her relationship with her dad and how she came to be in, and to survive Auschwitz.

Sophie’s Choice works best when it dwells on the philosophical conundrums that lie under its surface. How does one relate to a father whose world view is at odds with one’s own? What would you be willing to do to ensure your children’s survival? How does one survive sending one’s own child to its death? Then of course there is the decision central to this film – how does one choose between which child should have to die when you love them equally? My feeling of disappointment regarding this film is primarily because although Sophie’s Choice flags up these questions it doesn’t bother to pursue them in any meaningful manner. There’s an interesting (albeit uncomfortable) discussion to be had concerning the nature of moral dilemma faced by Sophie, as there is with many aspects of the film, which skirts around the important issues to dwell on the burgeoning love between Sophie and Stingo.

Stingo himself is presented as a dull, characterless sheep who is so prostrated by his admiration for Nathan that he fails to do the right thing for Sophie over and over again. We are told a number of times about his literary ability but this is never believable despite the overly flowery and verbose narration he has to offer. MacNicol is of course completely overshadowed by Streep’s powerhouse performance. It is she who brings together these scenes, be they driven by romance, misery or joy. Had I not known of Streep before this film I would have likely believed her to be Polish, such is the air of believability that she casts on the role. Her suffering is heart-breaking and her triumphs are rewarding.

I have a number of objections about this film. For a start it is far too long and the pacing is way off. Furthermore, the colour-palette cinematographer Néstor Almendros’ utilises for 1947’s Brooklyn is much too reliant on pastel colours. Its worst quality is that it focuses on a dull love story which does not have the pathos to make us truly believe that after all her suffering Sophie has finally found a means to genuine happiness such as she once shared with her mother and father when she was young. Despite this, Sophie’s Choice is worth recommending because of Streep – it is her film all the way through and ought to be watched as a documentation of a master of her craft at the peak of her powers.