It is an unsettling time to be human. A pandemic on this scale was inevitable and yet the reality of the outbreak has provoked misplaced panic because many leaders’ reactions have been woefully inadequate and collectively we were psychologically unprepared. I have avoided writing about the Coronavirus outbreak until now. Given my lack of virology credentials, I did not want to pass on unverified information; go to The London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine for the best source of UK-centric medical information. Nor do I want to provide calming platitudes. Rather, as the UK moves into its second week of lockdown, I want to write about the way we react to this situation, and explore what we can learn from our time in isolation.
Uncertainty encourages humans to follow the actions of the herd for safety but — without applying critical thought — it results in a nonsensical shortage of toilet roll (in Australia, bulk buying made some sense since they import a substantial volume from China where supplies were at risk of disruption; in the UK we have plenty of paper mills producing our own, so copying the Australian reaction achieved nothing more than voluntarily disrupting our own supply chain). It is easy to blame others for acting selfishly, but strong leadership should be quelling such actions through clear and transparent messaging.
Instead, the UK Government (whose main achievement continues to be that at least it is not the US Government) chose to delay taking action despite the clear consequences in Italy, justifying this to the public on the basis of “acquiring herd immunity”, without really addressing the fact that uncontrolled spreading would place an impossible burden on the healthcare system. Whilst herd immunity might be the outcome of a large swathe of population contracting the virus, it is only something we actively court through administering vaccines which, notably, don’t require a substantial number of people becoming seriously ill and requiring hospitalisation. This plan reeks of a Dominic Cummings policy that runs counter to conventional wisdom and sounds a bit smart until subjected to any rigorous scrutiny. As a result, when social distancing measures were belatedly introduced, it is little wonder that many people were sceptical and flouted the recommendations, requiring firmer controls. For Johnson to shirk any responsibility by acting like a disappointed parent when announcing the lockdown was deeply disingenuous. This is, after all, the same man who bragged about shaking hands with infected patients and has now tested positive for the virus.
A week into lockdown, messaging has improved although much of the “Stay Home” mantra is being propagated through social media from sources other than the Government. Supermarkets are imposing measures to limit numbers inside stores and, as a Brit, it was pleasing to see a queue outside in which people automatically adopted the recommended 2m distancing without any discussion required — even in a crisis, if there is one thing we can do, it is to form an orderly queue.
Meanwhile, if you want to know what strong Government messaging from the start looks like, I hope you have had the chance to experience Vietnam’s genuinely excellent “viral” sensation:
When I first saw Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, I was immediately enthralled by this subversive gem so ahead of its time in 1971 that it still feels modern today. The opportunity to see it return to the big screen was an easy draw, particularly as it turned out Malcolm McDowell would be in town to discuss the film. I wrote after my first viewing that, “The dark satire relies on making McDowell’s electric performance relatable which is no small feat.” I was fascinated to hear more about how Alex DeLarge came about.
DeLarger than life
As a young Shakespearean stage actor, McDowell claims not to have felt intimidated by Kubrick despite his reputation and success. Rather, he saw the project as a collaboration. That is quite something for an actor who has only just entered the world of film with If…., an allegorical story about revolution at an English private school. That first feature, perhaps because of its anarchic sensibilities, led directly to his selection for A Clockwork Orange. Kubrick’s widow recently recalled that the director had screened the film at home, repeating McDowell’s first scene five times, before turning to her and saying, “we’ve found our Alex.”
“Stanley wasn’t interested in the actor’s problem at all,” McDowell explains of the struggle to find a way to perform Alex. That became liberating, giving him the confidence to improvise — particularly with physicality, such as Alex’s exaggerated chewing whilst confined to a hospital bed, which emerged largely as a reaction to Kubrick’s evident boredom with the scene’s dialogue. The actor summarises his brief as being to “play a rapist murderer who people like”. The fact Alex has some culture in his love for Beethoven helped but ultimately McDowell imbued him with a love for life, something that one has to admire on some level. Yet that is what drew such ire from many audiences, the New York Times calling Kubrick a fascist for making Alex likeable.
Although the film makers played for humour, it didn’t take shape until they started filming. By modern standards the black comedy is self-evident, but McDowell recalls a New York audience watching in complete silence, whilst London offered only the occasional laugh — such was its uniqueness at the time. The home invasion sequence in particular could not have been done naturalistically, McDowell considers, “It would kill the film.” They spent five days shooting nothing, trying to work out how to create it. Kubrick eventually asked whether McDowell could dance, in response to which he launched into a spirited rendition of Singing in the Rain, replete with timed kicks. Kubrick was crying with laughter and, as McDowell tells it, immediately jumped into his car and drove home to purchase the rights to the song; it took them a further seven days to film the scene
Asked whether it was difficult to shoot the Ludovico technique, in which Alex is forced to watch a deluge of horrific footage with his eyes clamped open with ophthalmic forceps, McDowell responds enigmatically, “But I am Alex. If Alex is feeling pain then so was Malcolm,” before admitting candidly, “It was fucking horrible.” His eyes were anaesthetised for the shoot, meaning that he did not realise he had badly scratched his corneas until it wore off as he was driving home, in the worst pain he has ever felt. And then there were the reshoots…
Myth conceived notions
It is easy to forget that the film existed before punk, with a look that perhaps began to usher it in. The fashion was as improvisational as the acting, using cricket whites that McDowell had in his car, a protector that Kubrick suggested he wear on the outside as a codpiece, and a bowler as “a fuck you to the city”. The fake eyelashes began as a gag gift McDowell purchased for Kubrick, but after some experimentation they found the asymmetrical look of a single eye was suitably sinister.
McDowell recalls Anthony Burgess’ reason for writing the book, whilst noting in the same breath that the man was a pathological liar, making it impossible to know what was true. The story is that a Welsh doctor had told Burgess he had only nine months to live. Wanting to provide for his wife, Burgess rushed to write five books in that time. As publication approached and he was still alive, he realised he could not release them all simultaneously under his own name, so used pseudonyms instead. At the time he also worked as a newspaper literary critic and, as the books were not in his own name, they landed on his desk. He gave himself glowing reviews, before being fired once found out.
Addressing the mythology around the film’s limited availability in the UK until after Kubrick’s death, McDowell explains that A Clockwork Orange was never actually banned. A year after its release, as a result of several crimes allegedly copying elements of the movie, Kubrick and his family began receiving threats. Kubrick decided to withdraw the film from the UK market, a decision respected by the distributor until after his death. Invariably the lack of availability meant that people wanted it more.
He describes Kubrick as having paranoid tendencies, recalling visiting him at home to find the man sat by a stereo, intently listening to something through headphones. He silenced McDowell, who waited expectantly, imagining that he was probably listening to Beethoven for inspiration. Eventually Kubrick removed the cans and shook his head, “Another near miss at Heathrow.” He had been listening to air traffic control.
By the time the film was withdrawn, McDowell had moved to the USA, though he was disappointed that its cultural impact would not be experienced in the UK. American students embraced A Clockwork Orange for its style as well as the statement hidden beneath about freedom of choice. Although McDowell feels Burgess made things difficult for the audience by using an immoral man who makes bad choices, his own anti-establishment feelings ring out loudly in response to the film’s alternative of State control, “We know what happens when the State gets involved in anything. It’s a complete fuck up.” Here, its particular cruelty lay in stripping Alex of his pleasures, not just the antisocial ones but his love of music.
In closing, McDowell praises Kubrick’s genius as a film maker and waxed lyrical about 2001: A Space Odyssey, a film I consider overrated despite its visual majesty. McDowell highlights its propulsion of science fiction beyond contemporary cardboard sets, describing it as the best cinematic experience one can have on the big screen. In fact, I do not disagree at all with his final assessment: “I don’t know what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s 45 minutes before anyone speaks. But it’s genius.”
Unplayer One is a recurring feature exploring games in way that should appeal to those who enjoy art irrespective of the medium. Unlike other review posts, these are likely to contain major spoilers so, if you have any intention of playing the game in question, please do so before reading.
People often describe despair as an all-consuming black hole. Whilst that may be its crushing final act, for many people I suspect grey is a more appropriate colour than black. Rather than an oppressive force, it has a tendency to drain away the colour from the world, so that it loses its joy, its allure, and its meaning. Gris wordlessly explores this concept, following a strong-willed woman standing against the fears, doubts and depression that plague her mind.
“I slipped into a state beyond my usual grief and restlessness and anxiety and despair — one of not feeling anything at all. And when I felt nothing I became almost nostalgic for the grief; at least when you felt pain you knew you were still alive. I had tried to fight this, forcing myself into life and noise. I had gone, on my own, to a few of the new music halls, always sitting near the front, right in the heart of the noise and laughter, and I laughed or sang along, trying to feel some of the joy that filled the room. But I was immune.”
At a basic level, Gris is a 2D platformer in which progression is marked by restoring colours, one at a time, to an initially greyscale world. It is rendered as a flat cartoon against a layered, parallax scrolling background with swirling inks. The beautiful world is striking in both its initial stark simplicity and its colourfully detailed ultimate form. More impressive, however, is the inner struggle communicated solely through its mechanics.
The eponymous protagonist awakes in the palm of a crumbling statue that acts as a clear analogue to her own eroded sense of self. Gris tries to sing out but chokes up, the statue’s hand crumbling and dropping her to the earth below. She trudges through a grey world, hunched body language conveying her emotional state. She is buffeted by winds that rise and dwindle, forcing her to hide behind structures to avoid being blown backward, undoing her progress.
“There are many fools, Sorwa, men who conceive hearts in simple terms, absolute terms. They are insensible to the war within, so they scoff at it, they puff out their chests and they pretend. When fear and despair overcome them, as they must overcome us all, they have not the wind to think… and so they break.”
King Harweel, The Judging Eye (R. Scott Bakker)
After a time she gains the ability to turn herself into a squared off, stone block. This cartoonish power serves not only to allow Gris to explore further by breaking through cracked floors when falling from a height, but the additional weight allows her to withstand strong winds without needing extrinsic cover. The metaphor for resilience is clear: Gris is learning to become more robust. You are not saving this woman; she is saving herself. The wind then shifts from an oppressive challenge to an enabling experience as Gris begins to use vertical gusts of wind to access new areas, previously out of reach.
There is a button that, throughout the game, does nothing but cause Gris to exhale in a plaintive sigh. The sound design is real and touching, as pointless as this feature seems to be. However, once Gris has recovered the world’s colour, the same button unexpectedly serves an entirely new purpose as that sigh is replaced by song. We realise that this button has always represented her voice: muted and weak at first, but now rediscovered and liberated. With this discovery, her voice restores life to the world, causing trees to grow and flourish, carrying her higher.
It is the rediscovery of her voice that allows Gris finally to combat the formless, inky blackness that has been pursuing her. Her earlier attempts at passive evasion merely to survive now become a defiant challenge. This antagonist adopts at times the more stereotypical mental health motifs of a huge black bird, squawking angrily, and a giant face capable of swallowing Gris whole. When this finally happens, Gris finds herself ascending a tower to escape a rising ocean of toxic black sludge. As Gris sings, her statue self reforms and, moments before Gris succumbs to the rising tide, the statue sings back. This song banishes the creature and the sea of despair.
“Most things fail with age. Our hands and backs stiffen. Our eyes dim. Skin roughens and our beauty fades. The only exception is the voice. Properly cared for, a voice does nothing but grow sweeter with age and constant use.”
Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man’s Fear
The transition from a sigh to a song represents, to me, a shift from a sense of despair to one of hope. Gris’ ability once more to hope forges positive changes in the world around her. However, finding her voice is not itself the end of the game. It is a tool, and it needs to be taken actively out into the world and shared in order for it to change. Hoping for change is not an excuse not to act. Hope is a reason for not ceasing to act through despair.
Richard E. Grant is, in conversation, as affably charming as you might expect, garrulously spilling forth anecdotes but always to praise others rather than himself. He was visibly excited yet humbly grateful at his Academy Award nomination earlier in the day, for the performance that had just been screened in Can You Ever Forgive Me? He describes the project’s success, for which he has already received twenty-odd awards, as the culmination of many pieces falling into place. He was drawn to it by scriptwriter Jeff Whitty (who wrote Avenue Q) and director Marielle Heller (for Diary of a Teenage Girl). His only concern was whether this would be a vehicle for Melissa McCarthy’s comedy, fears that were allayed over a two-hour planning lunch with her (there was otherwise no rehearsal before filming began).
Grant realised McCarthy had not seen Withnail and I when she complimented with some surprise his ability to act drunk. Whilst he acknowledges comparison between the performances is inevitable “when you play two alcoholics in period coats”, he is glad that the roles were thirty years apart and was not consciously channelling anything of Withnail. That may come as a slightly surprise given that he plays Portland-born Jack Hock as English, but this was a directorial choice rather than his own (in fact an earlier, failed incarnation of the project had Chris O’Dowd cast in the role).
Having come off what he described as the “Testostoworld” (coming soon to theatres) of Logan‘s massive, male-dominated set, he loved the intimacy of a small picture with rarely more than three people conversing in a scene and predominantly female crew. That is not to say he dislikes working on big movies: he is enthusiastic about appearing in Star Wars at the end of the year, although he perhaps misread the room a little when looking for excitement at JJ Abrams directing.
When asked what convinces him to take on a role, Grant prefaces his response by noting with self-deprecation that he appeared in Spice World: The Movie. Like the plethora of British talent to appear in the film, he was instructed to take the role by a family member, as his daughter wanted to meet the Spice Girls. I wonder how many others are, like him, finding on the flip-side that it now opens doors with younger talent like Lena Dunham who wrote him into Girls because of that movie.
He reminisced about acting alongside Daniel Day-Lewis in The Age of Innocence, joking that he prostrated himself in thanks that the legendary actor had turned down the role of Withnail, thus providing Grant with a career. After the first day, however, Day-Lewis blanked him on set, and it took Michelle Pfeiffer to explain that the method actor would continue this throughout shooting since their characters disliked one another. He finally broke character on Grant’s final day of shooting to envelop him in a hug and tell him it had been an honour working together. Which understandably, after weeks of being ignored, simply felt surreal.
I could not say unequivocally whether Jack Hock is Grant’s best performance, but when a long-serving character actor finally receives that elusive recognition, it is hard not to root for him to win.
For a third year, here are some illustrated moments from the past twelve months. In a world creaking under the strain of social media’s artificial expectations, I want to remind readers that these are merely the pretty highlights and not representative of the everyday experience, albeit that my photography tends to reflect the way that I see the world.
The final QuickViews compilation (before the feature moves to the new QuickViews page) touches on almost every genre, following an intensely varied December.
69. I, Tonya (2017) – 8/10
Tonya Harding is infamous in America as an Olympian figure skater
whose rivalry with Nancy Kerrigan ended with the latter having her knee
shattered in an attack. The film seeks to present Tonya’s side of the
story, with a focus on the sport’s emphasis on image over athleticism
(Tonya was the first woman to land a triple-axel in competition but was
brash and from a poor background). Considerable focus is placed on the
effect of domestic violence, at the hands of her mother (an exception
supporting turn by Allison Janney) and then her partner. The film’s
breezy tone makes for a more enjoyable experience, though arguably
weakens its presentation of Tonya’s loneliness, yearning for affection.
Given that the truth remains elusive, the film plays with its own
unreliable perspective — “I never did this,” Tonya tells the
camera, whilst cocking a shotgun and chasing her husband. The result,
then, is conjecture but with substance.
70. Hacksaw Ridge (2016) – 8/10
The smarts of MIT and the glitz of Vegas sounds like a fun ride as a
college professor takes a group of gifted students under his tutelage to
count cards and win big at Blackjack. Despite claims to be based on a
true story, this is heavily fictionalised. Rather than improving the
story, however, the sloppy script is happy to rely on cliché and a
predictable twist. The leads do a decent job of humanising their roles,
but the supporting characters are never more than sketches. The film’s
starkest failure is that its Vegas setting feels sluggish and swiftly
becomes tedious rather than electric and alluring, robbing the film of
even surface entertainment.
71. 21 (2008) – 4/10
The smarts of MIT and the glitz of Vegas sounds like a fun ride as a
college professor takes a group of gifted students under his tutelage to
count cards and win big at Blackjack. Despite claims to be based on a
true story, this is heavily fictionalised. Rather than improving the
story, however, the sloppy script is happy to rely on cliché and a
predictable twist. The leads do a decent job of humanising their roles,
but the supporting characters are never more than sketches. The film’s
starkest failure is that its Vegas setting feels sluggish and swiftly
becomes tedious rather than electric and alluring, robbing the film of
even surface entertainment.
72. Mac and Me (1988) – 2/10
Full disclosure: I did not actually subject myself to this travesty in pure form, only through Mystery Science Theater 3000,
which made it considerably more bearable. The underlying film, however,
is hot garbage and unusually I am going to include spoilers because you
should not watch this. There is absolutely no creativity to this
low-effort rip-off of E.T. The Extra Terrestrial, with a
stranded alien (MAC = Mysterious Alien Creature. How smart!) befriending
a young boy (this time in a wheelchair for added emotional impact!)
whilst being hunted down by the Government. This is less a film and more
an exercise in excruciating product placement, with a dance number in
McDonald’s and a climactic rescue demonstrating Coca Cola’s well-known
restorative health properties (for aliens at least). It is fascinating
that this was ever made, but it is that special kind of corporate awful
which prevents it from falling into “so bad it’s good” territory.
Except maybe the ending ceremony when the aliens become US citizens
because my irony detector was off the charts.
73. All The President’s Men (1976) – 7/10
Whilst considered a classic by many, the film’s greatest strength is
also its weakness. Where Hollywood typically glamourises any profession
it portrays, there is courageous verisimilitude here in presenting the
relentless drudgery of newspaper reporting: endless calls for quotes,
hours of waiting to speak to a source, wrangling names and numbers and
details, poring over notes scrawled on whatever paper is to hand. The
film is often taut — through Hoffman and Redford’s excellent
performances, some great camerawork, and the knowledge of how events
ended — but its latter half certainly drags. The Watergate Scandal broke
slowly, not all in one go, and after we see the first chink lift in the
White House’s armour, to be presented with the same process repeated
multiple times makes for poor storytelling. This, coupled with a
lacklustre conclusion in which the dominoes eventually topple
off-screen, means the film’s edge dulls as its scandal fades.
74. Pawn Sacrifice (2014) – 6/10
It is infinitely harder to translate a cerebral face-off to film than
a physical one. The advantage to Bobby Fischer as a subject is that
man’s personality and paranoia provide energy in between bouts. He is
contradictory in nature, by turns self-assured and cowardly,
single-minded and constantly distracted. Zwick’s film largely glosses
over his worst traits, whilst not trusting the viewer enough to slow the
pace sufficiently to allow games to breathe (the camera is instead as
distracted as Fischer). Often it is through the eyes of Liev Schrieber
as his rival Spassky that we find more nuanced understanding of Fischer.
This is a film that will mean far more to those who lived through — or
are at least familiar with — the Cold War, else the idea of geopolitical
ramifications (on which the film frequently relies for its stakes)
being attached to a game of chess seems a quaint curiosity. Merely
relying on newsreels and mentions of White House attention fails to
communicate how this became perceived as a battle of ideology.
75. Train to Busan (2016) – 8/10
The most entertaining zombie film in years, this South Korean survival horror is reminiscent of 28 Days Later,
owing in part to their shared “fast” zombies (a word that neither uses)
but more to their bleak outlook on human morality in survival
situations. Virtually the entire film takes place on board a moving
train, whilst the country collapses all around. With half the carriages
swiftly infected, the constrained space keeps the danger immediate and
provides us with a few creative and original set pieces. Train to Busan
is ultimately a film about selfishness and sacrifice. Unusually, our
protagonist begins as one of the selfish (to an extent; he cares about
his family but no one else) but to protect his daughter effectively he
must learn to cooperate.
76. Nocturnal Animals (2016) – 8/10
Tom Ford’s sophomore film is a haunting, contemplative concoction
that trusts its viewers to keep pace. Although to a lesser extent that A Single Man,
Ford’s designer eye remains clear in the way he frames and controls
each shot. Amy Adams brings melancholy introspection to an unhappily
married woman revisiting the past after her ex-husband sends a
manuscript of his novel, dedicated to her. Excising his demons through a
strange form of disempowered revenge fantasy, half the film is spent
within this fiction, which opens with a harrowing sequence on a lonely
highway at night. Although the second half is less visceral, it becomes a
more intellectual study of strength and weakness. Through Susan’s
memories and Edward’s fiction we see both ex-partners working through
the mistakes of a failed relationship, which might finally allow for a
reconciliation.
77. Atonement (2007) – 8/10
Keira Knightley always seems most comfortable in a period piece. Although centred around a romance in the 1930s, Atonement
is more a story about perspective, misunderstanding and consequences.
We see a pivotal scene at a fountain from two perspectives, allowing us
to appreciate how it was misconstrued by a child. Joe Wright’s
camerawork allows the audience inside characters’ heads, used most
notably in a sprawling six-minute long take on the Dunkirk beach. The
film’s conclusion feels slightly rushed but still maintains the book’s
tragic reveal, an ending that will undoubtedly be off-putting to some
but should be little surprise for an adaptation of an Ian McEwan novel.
78. Paddington (2014) – 7/10
Ben Whishaw voices the marmalade-loving bear from darkest Peru with
an adorable charm and naiveté that Colin Firth (previously considered
for the role) would have struggled to bring. Paddington is a
timely immigrant story about how we all benefit from embracing our
differences. Much of this rests on Hugh Bonneville as Mr Brown, as he
moves from initial mistrust to concern for his family to ultimate
acceptance. The film is structured as a caper story culminating in an
escape sequence with enjoyable nods for adult viewers to franchises like
Indiana Jones and Mission Impossible. Of particular
note is the surprising calypso soundtrack (the music of Notting Hill
immigrants when Michael Bond wrote his books), with a band appearing
around London to mirror Paddington’s mood.
79. Tomb Raider (2018) – 5/10
When Oscar-winner Alicia Vikander was cast as the iconic Lara Craft, many hoped that Tomb Raider
might finally crack the elusive high-quality videogame-to-film
adaptation. Sadly, those hoping for more than a generic action movie
will be disappointed by the results. Although it broadly follows the
story beats of the 2013 videogame reboot, the script presents this as an
uninspired origin story in which our orphaned heroine bizarrely spends
the first half hour moping around London as a bike courier, presumably
in an effort to make the heiress more relatable. Meanwhile it omits many
of the scenes that demonstrate Lara’s transformation into a survivor.
Vikander does what she can with the material, but apparently “this kind
of Croft” is bland and largely passive until she returns to London in
the film’s final few minutes. It is telling that even Walton Goggins
struggles to make his villain in any way memorable. Ultimately the film
is strongest in its fan-service moments, which is rarely a mark of
quality.
80. Get Out (2017) – 9/10
Jordan Peele’s directorial debut wants to get under your skin in
every sense. As is often the case with high concept horror, the less you
know going in the better. Thematically, though, this is about the
racial paranoia of being a minority in a white space — Chris reads into
every cue, is made uncomfortable by the most casual of remarks, but is
constantly second-guessing his own reading of the situation. It is an
astute depiction of how exhausting such social interactions can be. The
film’s opening scene is a statement of intent, with a black man walking
through an affluent suburb, trying to avoid confrontation and clearly
terrified of being shot. Like his comedy writing with Keegan-Michael
Key, Peele is intent on confronting contemporary racial issues directly
in order to provoke discomfort and conversation. In that, Get Out is a resounding success.
81. War for the Planet of the Apes (2017) – 8/10
Concluding Caesar’s trilogy, we find the embittered chimp no longer confident in his intelligence and questioning his decisions as he succumbs to a desire for revenge. The titular “war” is something of a misnomer, though the antagonists are soldiers. Woody Harrelson’s Colonel is driven by a specific sense of purpose which sadly, because it is delivered through monologue, never receives real examination. This series has always questioned the extent to which humanity is defined by its intelligence and what it would take for mankind to recognise and respect that intelligence in another species. The final film goes one step further and poses the question at what point one loses that humanity, although there are few answers offered. It is easy to forget that half the characters are animated, such is the quality of the emotion conveyed through motion capture, led by Andy Serkis with a clearly demanding physical performance. Despite the extent to which it is employed, this is CGI used right, in service of the story.
82. Roma (2018) – 9/10
Roma is an overt passion project for Alfonso Cuarón: a semi-autobiographical film shot entirely in black-and-white with virtually all dialogue in Spanish and Mixtec. Yet, not only is this an indulgence he has earned, but the results are often breathtaking. The story follows a tumultuous year for the live-in housekeeper to a middle-class family, against the backdrop of Mexico in the early 1970s. The underlying themes include love and lies, abandonment and guilt, and finding a sense of place. Doubtless more will emerge from rewatching. The monochrome cinematography is utterly beautiful, from sun-bleached rooftops to forests to rolling countryside to breaking waves to the chrome accents on period cars. Cuarón is a master of his craft turning his lens introspectively.
The end of the year brings some structural changes and new content to the site. These are accessible directly from the main navigation menu above, or from the sidebar of the relevant sections. For several years the Critic section has been lacking in updates and largely overlooked, as I have little time to write longform film reviews. Last year the Reeltime Harry Potter series gave it a shot in the arm but, whilst we intend to do more Reeltime projects, they too require a considerable time investment.
To allow for more regular updates, we are formalising the QuickView single-paragraph reviews that grew out of last year’s film resolution. Rather than collecting them into posts of a dozen or more films (which became somewhat overwhelming for readers) they will now appear as individual posts in the Critic section. Hopefully this will also encourage more engagement on individual reviews. The final set of 2018 QuickViews will be collated at the end of the year, but after that they will no longer appear in the Fragments section, where they already felt slightly out of place.
Another new feature is Fives, a response to the routine question about my favourite films. I do not have a favourite film and a static top ten list has struck me as absurd whenever I have tried to construct one. The films that speak to me the most will change considerably depending on my mood, my current focus, and a host of factors. To reflect this, Fives presents selections of five movies within varied categories loosely inspired the weird genre classifications Netflix uses for its recommendations. The Fives page will be updated only intermittently, but feel free to suggest new categories and I will try to populate them.
Meanwhile, the Artist section now features a new gallery of Virtual Photography, featuring “photographs” shot in the virtual worlds of various videogames. Over the past year I have started applying the techniques I have learned from real-world photography to experiment with virtual images. Starting with Red Dead Redemption 2, this will gradually expand as increasing numbers of games provide tools to reduce the HUD or fully-fledged photo modes. In fact, for the first time this virtual photography provided the image for this year’s Christmas card.