Film Review: Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison

Take two of Hollywood’s biggest stars and one of its finest directors, plonk them on a lush tropical island surrounded by rocky outcrops and rolling waves and arm them with an interesting script. What is the likely outcome? A damn fine movie, that’s what. Certainly in this case, it is.

I’m always fascinated by a film with a minimal cast. The actors involved have an even greater weight of responsibility than usual in that there’s no one else for the audience to focus on. On the other hand, there are no other performers to point the finger at if the thing tanks. For the actors, it must be both terrifying and supremely massaging to their egos. “You mean I’m in virtually every shot? Yes! That’s just what my fans will want. Of course I’ve got the talent and the screen presence to pull it off. How dare you suggest otherwise!”

Fortunately, the talent in this 1957 John Huston classic is without question. Robert Mitchum and Deborah Kerr – two gifted actors who apparently clicked immediately and went on to enjoy a lifelong friendship.

Mitchum plays US Marine, Corporal Allison who, after several days adrift in a rubber raft following a skirmish with the Japanese, finds himself washed up on an island in the South Pacific during the Second World War. A quick scout around reveals the island to be abandoned save for Sister Angela, a young nun played by Kerr, who has been there just a few days following a failed attempt to evacuate the priest already there. At first, Allison is relieved to be on the island where there is plenty of fish and fruit to eat and shelter from the tropical weather. He admits its not a bad place to wait out the war. But it isn’t long before a detachment of Japanese return to the island to set up a meteorological camp thereby forcing the Marine and the nun to hide out in a cave up in the surrounding hills.

There’s a wonderfully tense scene some time later when, sympathetic towards Sister Angela’s inability to eat the raw fish that he catches, Allison sneaks into the Japanese camp one night to steal something more palatable for her. It’s a beautifully shot and paced sequence by a master of cinematic storytelling – nothing fancy, nothing over the top, just measured excitement.

Meanwhile, the nights remind them that the war continues as flashes of naval gunfire light up the horizon. Then one day, the Japanese leave the island as quickly as they had come and the two celebrate their unexpected liberty.  Allison gets drunk on a bottle of sake left behind by a Japanese officer and foolishly declares his love for Sister Angela as well as denouncing her holy devotion as a waste of time. His natural urges rising to the surface, he can’t see why their “Garden of Paradise” situation doesn’t become fully instinctive – if you know what I mean. Sister Angela runs away from him and spends the night outside in a storm, becoming sick as a result. The following morning, Allison, full of repentance and shame, finds her with a fever at the same time the Japanese return to the island. Once again they are forced to seek refuge in the cave. Allison, feeling completely responsible for Sister Angela’s condition,  sneaks into the Japanese camp again to get blankets for her but he has to knife a solider to death when he is discovered. This alerts the detachment to an enemy presence and consequently, they begin a thorough search of the island.

To find out what happens next, I’ll encourage – nay recommend – you to watch the film yourself.

The two leads (and for ninety-five percent of the film you’ll see nobody else) are just perfectly cast and they own their time on screen. Between them, they’ve made many great movies and would go on to make two more together (The Sundowners and The Grass Is Greener – both in 1960). They’ve both given numerous wonderful performances as well over their careers and I don’t think either ever gave a better performance than they did here. Mitchum’s Marine is big and bruising, capable of dishing out death and yet kind and tender too; a simple man but a decent one; a product of a childhood he’d rather forget. Kerr’s nun is slightly naive but more uncertain, devout to her vows – of which the final one she has still to take – and yet teetering on the edge of uncertainty that she’s got what it takes to go all the way. Is she ready to forsake her womanhood for the greater calling? Both characters have chosen their paths and both have sworn oaths to tread them but will the time together on the island make a difference?

As if Mitchum or Kerr weren’t strong enough reasons to give this film a viewing, the director must surely tip the scales. From the moment John Huston sat behind the camera and gave us The Maltese Falcon in 1941, he revealed a certain brilliance and while Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison might not be his finest hour, it’s likely a film that many of his contemporaries would have wanted to helm.  It was adapted from Charles Shaw’s novel of the same name by Huston and John Lee Mahin, a prolific screenwriter who penned numerous classics between the 30s and the 60s, among them, Captains Courageous (1937) and Showboat (1951). The island of Trinidad and Tobago where the film was shot was photographed by Oswald Morris, a cinematographer who’s career would span six decades and include a long list of gems like Moby Dick (1956) and The Man Who Would Be King (1975). Naturally, the setting is stunning and one can only imagine the times had by all on location. Deborah Kerr and the writing team of Huston and Mahin were nominated for Academy Awards and there were a handful of other nominations throughout that season but the only win it garnered was for Kerr at the ’57 New York Film Critics Circle Awards. Shame that, because while Mitchum earned a BAFTA nomination, his performance generally seemed to have been overlooked. But then being the kind of guy he was, he probably didn’t give a damn anyway.

 

Film Review: Breathless (À Bout de Souffle)

Very few films can lay claim to being called innovative; after all, film-making is fundamentally a craft and a craft is basically an activity that involves making something with one’s hands. There are a number of well-trodden steps to follow in order to attain the end result in much the same way as there is when making a cake. First you do this, then this and then this and so on. In essence, the camera captures the shots and then the screen shows the result but of course, there can be an entire directory of additional technical processes in between, not to mention all that comes before the camera is even taken off the truck.

But each one of these processes is a craft unto itself and the individuals involved are all skilled technicians of their own particular field whether that’s to do with the actor’s wardrobe, the make-up they wear, the design of the sets, the editing, the special effects, the coordination of stunts, the lighting, or the cinematography (the list can go on), but they all have steps to follow; steps that define their job, their reason for being involved.

However, film-making is also an art; a medium for expression and an outlet for creativity. Part of that creativity could be defined as bending the rules, of thinking outside the box, of trying something new. This is innovation.

One film that can definitely be labelled innovative and still sleep soundly at night is Breathless, or if you prefer the French title – À Bout de Souffle. Released in 1960 to both critical and box office success, it quite simply rewrote the rule book, certainly for editing style. Its use of jump-cuts was totally radical for the time and to watch it now, amazes and horrifies in equal measure. Some of the editing is in-your-face noticeable and looks positively amateurish, jarring even – as though the film stock snapped and was poorly spliced back together – and yet it adds a nuance of freshness and intensity to the film that wouldn’t be there if the editing was smooth. Love it or loathe it, it was a stroke of genius. It was also filmed entirely on a hand-held camera (tracking shots were courtesy of a wheelchair or a postal cart with the camera hidden and the lens poking through a hole because no permission was given from French officials) and with virtually no additional lighting – made possible by using a specific type of film stock that needed to be painstakingly modified.

It was director Jean-Luc Godard’s first feature length film and was one of the earliest examples of the French New Wave of cinema or Nouvelle Vague and it would go on to become one of the most influential films of that era. The young Godard was very critical of mainstream cinema, saying it “emphasised craft over innovation” and many of his films challenged the well-established conventions of traditional Hollywood as well as that of French cinema. Together with his group of contemporaries that included Claude Chabrol and François Truffaut (who both wrote the foundations of Breathless), he set about shaking up the establishment and the way it was perceived that films could be made. He has influenced numerous directors like Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, John Woo and Bernardo Bertolucci and is often ranked by critics as one of the greatest directors of all time.

The plot of Breathless revolves around a petty criminal named Michel Poiccard (played sublimely by the then soon-to-be-famous Jean-Paul Belmondo), who fancies himself as a sort of Humphrey Bogart tough guy stereotype. He steals a car in Marseille and then shoots the policeman who has pursued him out into the country. Now a penniless fugitive, he flees to Paris and hides out with an American girlfriend Patricia (Jean Seberg), a student and aspiring journalist who sells newspapers along the Champs Élysées to earn her living. He spends his time attempting to seduce her while trying to call in a loan from a local hood so that he can fund their escape to Italy. The police soon make the link between her and her boyfriend and when questioned by them, Patricia learns that Michel is on the run for murder. She eventually betrays him and yada yada yada. Watch it and you’ll find out what happens. Oh and an added bonus – Paris has never looked cooler!

 

 

 

 

Maestros of Film Music

If I were to ask you to name your top ten favourite movies of all time, how long would it take you to settle on a list? Would you find it as easy as 1,2,3, able even to put them in order of preference all the way up to 3,2,1? Or would it take hours of head-scratching, soul-searching and discussion, with DVDs and old videos being pulled out and watched over to remind yourself of how great or maybe not so great a film is? I was asked this recently and I must admit that I found the idea of naming my top ten favourite films absolutely impossible. I can name the titles of numerous films that would most certainly be included in the list but I couldn’t for a single moment begin to arrange them in any order of preference. Nor could I stop at ten. I’m guessing, but I think the number would be at least twice that and likely many more. For me, there are quite simply more than ten films worthy – for reasons aesthetic, technical, artistic or simply just plain entertaining – of standing on the shoulders of all the rest. Of course, if you want to see such a list the Internet has dozens of them. Dozens of top tens, top fifties and top one hundreds compiled by movie fans, critics and institutes alike, all with most probably a far greater knowledge of cinema than do I.

However, the idea of compiling a top ten list of something appealed to the pop-picker in me and so I continued to think of one that would be related somehow yet easier, nay possible to come up with. What I decided on came to me via my iPod and although it initially seemed fairly straightforward, as I scrolled through my music library and then began researching certain items that were on my wish list, so began the head-scratching, the soul-searching and the discussion. Nevertheless, finally after what I consider too long a time, I have compiled a list of my ten favourite film music composers. But please don’t think there’s any order of preference here.

I will kick off with the only one on my list that I happened to have shared a ceiling with because ten years ago, I was fortunate enough to see Elmer Bernstein perform at the Royal Albert Hall in London. Needless to say, it was a fabulous evening and I think I whistled The Great Escape tune all the way back home, probably to the annoyance of my fellow tube travellers. Bernstein (not to be confused with Leonard) is probably best known for his scores for The Great Escape and The Magnificent Seven, the latter of which undoubtably helped turn a fairly routine western into one of the most enjoyable films of the genre. His upbeat western themes, of which there are many, are a true joy but a quick look at his credits prove him to be an extremely versatile composer, capable of writing for any genre. He won an Oscar for Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967) and would go on to be nominated a total of 14 times giving us along the way great scores like The Man with the Golden Arm, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Age of Innocence.

Last year (2012), Hitchcock’s Vertigo replaced Citizen Kane at the top of the British Film Institute’s Greatest Films of All Time list. That’s somewhat significant when you consider that Orson Welles’ debut film had previously occupied the top spot for 50 years. What’s also of interest is that Bernard Hermann wrote the score for both movies. Hermann, who started off working in radio as a staff conductor, wrote some incredibly atmospheric pieces – The Ghost and Mrs. Muir and The Day the Earth Stood Still are about as atmospheric as you can get. He collaborated on many a Hitchcock picture and gave us the classic dramatic soundtracks to North by Northwest and Psycho. But there was much much more great music throughout his career too.  Mysterious Island, Cape Fear and On Dangerous Ground to name but three. He won an Oscar for The Devil and Daniel Webster in 1941and would go on to receive a total of 5 nominations.

Next up on my list of no particular order comes one of the most successful and influential film composers of all time, a man who, aside from Walt Disney, is unmatched in Academy Award nominations with a total of forty eight to date. Out of these he has garnered five wins. He has composed some of the most recognisable and whistleable music in film history including Star Wars, Superman and the Indiana Jones films. I refer, of course, to John Williams. Williams moved to Los Angeles and began writing film scores in the late ’50s but it wasn’t until he penned the music to Spielberg’s Jaws in 1974 that his career really took off. The ominous three-note motif that he composed was a stroke of genius and has since become synonymous with sharks. Many of his compositions employ a full orchestra and this gives his music a classical neoromantic style, making it very easy to pop in a CD and listen to. His grand symphonic score to Star Wars has become the highest grossing non-popular music recording of all time. His score for Jurassic Park is sublime as are those for Saving Private Ryan, Empire of the Sun and the Harry Potter films. His most recent work for Spielberg’s Lincoln shows that even after fifty years of composing film scores, he’s still got what it takes to give the world beautiful music.

Another John now, this time John Barry. Barry will probably be remembered as the man who gave musical accompaniment to the world’s coolest spy. Although the writing credit for the James Bond theme goes to Monty Norman, it was Barry’s arrangement that has made it one of the most instantly recognisable pieces of music the world has ever heard. He wrote the scores for eleven more 007 films throughout the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s and for my money, the Bond music was never better. On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is, in my opinion, the high point of the series but all those that came before it have terrific soundtracks. He scored numerous other films throughout a fifty year career and picked up five Oscars (Born Free (best score and song), The Lion in Winter, Out of Africa and Dances with Wolves) out of seven nominations along the way. Zulu, The Ipcress File, Midnight Cowboy and Enigma are great examples of his film soundtracks. Early in his career, he had a number of hit singles with his band The John Barry Seven – Hit and Miss, Walk Don’t Run and Beat for Beatniks to name just three – and these tunes simply ooze with the style and coolness that was inherent on the streets and in the clubs of London in those swinging ’60s. He also penned some memorable TV themes, none more so than The Persuaders!

Ennio Morricone, like the preceding four composers here, has a certain style. And this style is no more apparent than in his scores for the spaghetti westerns for which he is most famous. In 1964 director Sergio Leone set out to make a different kind of western and when he hired Morricone to write the score, they created an accompanying soundtrack that was equally different from the orchestral standards of the genre that had come before. Making use of the then new Fender electric guitar, jew’s harps and trumpets they basically came up with a whole new twangy sound for a western movie soundtrack. And what a sound it was. As instantly recognisable after just a few bars as the James Bond theme and equally as evocative. His music adds another dimension to these films and is arguably a character of its own. Without their soundtracks, these films simply would not be the same. And like Elmer Bernstein, Morricone’s versatility ensured that he wasn’t restricted to just cowboy films. His long list of credits include, the comedies La Cage aux Folles and Bulworth, John Carpenter’s excellent 1982 chiller flick The Thing, the Schwarzenegger fantasy movie Red Sonja, The Untouchables starring Kevin Costner and Robert De Niro and Clint Eastwood’s In the Line of Fire. Aside from the spaghetti westerns, perhaps his best known work is the soundtrack for The Mission, a 1986 film by Roland Joffé about the experiences of a Jesuit missionary in South America during the 18th Century. It is considered to be a perfect example of what music can do for a film and has sold over 3 million copies worldwide. Surprisingly, Morricone has never won an Academy Award but he has been nominated a total of five times.

Another composer who enjoyed a long and successful career was Jerry Goldsmith. Goldsmith began scoring radio shows in the early 1950s and this quickly progressed to television shows such as The Twilight Zone and later, the theme to The Man from U.N.C.L.E. His first feature film was a western in 1957 called Black Patch. More TV and film scores followed but it wasn’t until he scored the classic 1962 western Lonely Are the Brave that he began to receive widespread recognition. Throughout the decade his career flourished with critically acclaimed achievements like A Patch of Blue and The Sand Pebbles both of which garnered him Oscar nominations. Another nomination together with enormous critical attention came for his controversial soundtrack to The Planet of the Apes in ’68, a score which saw him using innovative techniques to get the ape-like sounds he wanted. The Omen in ’76 saw him win his only Oscar out of a total of 18 nominations and before his death in 2004, he would go on to give us some of the most stirring and memorable film music ever. Star Trek: The Motion Picture is perhaps his most recognised work and following its success, he would go on to score four more films for the franchise (my personal favourite score being First Contact) as well as the themes to the TV series The Next Generation and Voyager. Other highlights include the wonderfully eerie Alien, the spooky Poltergeist and the cool jazzy L.A. Confidential.

Long considered to be one of the giants of Hollywood movie music, Dimitri Tiomkin was musically trained in Russia and made his performing debut in the early ’20s as a pianist playing with the Berlin Philharmonic. He moved to Hollywood in 1929 but it wasn’t until ’37 that his score for Frank Capra’s Lost Horizon helped him achieve any sort of recognition. The next ten years saw him work with Capra on films including Mr Smith Goes to Washington and It’s a Wonderful Life. Over the course of his career, he wrote music for some of the most popular and spectacular films ever including The Guns of Navarone, The Alamo, The Fall of the Roman Empire and Land of the Pharaohs. He scored four Hitchcock films including Strangers on a Train and Dial M for Murder and numerous westerns, the genre with which he perhaps became most associated. His first was Duel in the Sun in 1946 and his most well-known was High Noon 1952, a film which received seven Oscar nominations and won four, two of which were for Tiomkin – Best Original Music and Best Song. This was the first time a composer had received two awards for the same movie. He won twice more for The High and the Mighty in ’54 and The Old Man and the Sea in ’58. In total he would be nominated twenty two times. Other highlights include Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, The War Wagon, Town Without Pity and Giant. Tiomkin also penned memorable themes to TV shows such as Rawhide and Gunslinger.

In complete contrast to the classic style of Tiomkin comes Lalo Schifrin, an Argentine pianist at heart with jazz running through his veins. He is perhaps best known for his theme to the Mission: Impossible TV show and several of Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry movies. These are excellent examples of his often edgy, frequently pumping and sometimes cool jazzy soundtracks but there are so many more scores worth attention. Schifrin moved to Hollywood in 1963 and was offered his first film project by MGM in the form of an African adventure called Rhino! That year he re-arranged Jerry Goldsmith’s original theme to The Man from U.N.C.L.E. into something far more jazzy and ended up winning the 1965 Emmy award for Best TV Theme. His credits encompass virtually every genre and include some of the coolest tunes associated with film. Notable soundtracks are Cool Hand Luke, Bullitt, Enter The Dragon and Rush Hour. Classic TV themes penned by him include Starsky and Hutch and Planet of the Apes. He’s yet to win an Oscar but he’s been nominated six times to date.

Another composer who knew how to write “cool” was Henry Mancini. Some of his best known works include The Pink Panther theme, Moon River and Breakfast at Tiffany’s and the score to Victor Victoria. His career as a musician began in 1946 when he became a pianist and arranger for the newly re-formed Glenn Miller Orchestra. Six years later he joined Universal Pictures music department where he contributed to dozens of films including The Glenn Miller Story starring James Stewart. This gave him his first Oscar nomination. In ’58 his thirty-five year collaboration with Blake Edwards began when he scored the TV series Peter Gunn. Breakfast at Tiffany’s followed as did The Pink Panther and it’s sequels, The Great Race and Victor Victoria to name just a few of their pairings. He worked with numerous Hollywood directors throughout his career and along the way gave us such scores as those for Hatari! which includes the chirpy and well-known Baby Elephant Walk, The Molly Maguires, Charade, The Glass Menagerie and Santa Claus: The Movie. In Oscar terms he was nominated eighteen times and won four.

One of the first composers to ever write musical scores for movies was Max Steiner, an Austrian-born music prodigy who was trained by Johannes Brahms and Robert Fuchs. He conducted his first operetta at age twelve and became a full-time professional conductor/composer at fifteen. Steiner is referred to as “the father of film music” and is widely considered one of the greatest film score composers in the history of cinema. He composed over three hundred scores for RKO and Warner Brothers throughout his career and was nominated for an Oscar twenty four times, winning three for The Informer (1935), Now, Voyager (1942), and Since You Went Away (1944). Besides these, his more popular scores include King Kong (1933), Casablanca (1942) and his most famous work and arguably the greatest film score ever recorded Gone with the Wind (1939). From Austria, the young Steiner toured to England, then to New York for a fifteen year stint on Broadway as musical director or conductor before accepting an offer from RKO to move to Hollywood. His first screen credit as orchestrator came on a musical called Dixiana in 1930. His breakthrough came three years later with King Kong. Actor and musician Oscar Levant later called the film “a symphony accompanied by a movie”. After a move from RKO to Warner Bros. Steiner was sought after by the leading directors of the day. Other notable scores include The Searchers, They Died with Their Boots On, The Big Sleep and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.

Marvin Hamlisch wasn’t the first composer to take the musical reigns of the 007 franchise from John Barry. George Martin was that man. George ‘The Fifth Beatle’ Martin composed the score and the title song for Live and Let Die and while the latter is arguably one of the best of the series, the former is not quite up to the standard set by Barry. Marvin Hamlisch contribution to the franchise was The Spy Who Loved Me and again one can argue that the title song he co-wrote with Carole Bayer Sager – Nobody Does It Better – is a strong entry in the series but the rest of the soundtrack is below Barry’s high standard. Having said that, it’s by no means the weakest in the franchise’s history. Hamlisch’s first job was as a rehearsal pianist for Barbra Streisand’s Funny Girl. His first film score was for the 1968 Burt Lancaster movie The Swimmer. He followed this with a number of comedies including two Woody Allen films but it wasn’t until 1973 that things got interesting for him. That was the year he wrote the title song and score for The Way We Were as well as adapting Scott Joplin’s ragtime music for the movie The Sting and he would walk away from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion on the following Oscar night with three gold statuettes in his grip. The Way We Were is beautiful romantic music and The Sting is a fun collection of Joplin’s classic rags sewn together and embellished by Hamlisch’s wonderful orchestrations. He would go on to receive a total of twelve Oscar nominations with three wins. Other fine works include Sophie’s Choice, A Chorus Line and The Informant! a 2009 Matt Damon film directed by Steven Soderbergh.

And now, I hesitate to continue because, as those of you who are still awake will have observed, I have already surpassed my allowance for this list of my ten favourite composers. And yet I still have more to share, more names that should be in that top ten. You see how awful I am at these lists! Oh well, maybe next time I’ll share with you my thoughts on Maurice Jarre’s exquisite scores to Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago and A Passage to India all of which he won an Oscar for, and Ron Goodwin’s excellent wartime music for Where Eagles Dare, 633 Squadron and Battle of Britain as well as Yann Tiersen’s gorgeous score to Amélie.  But until then, if you get a chance, pop in a soundtrack CD and listen to the music that our film composers have written. Sit back and enjoy their hard work unaccompanied by the sights and sound effects of a movie and allow yourself the pleasure to hear their talent in all its pure, undiluted form.

 

Remakes going too far? Croneberg’s ‘Videodrome’ next to go under the knife.

Yesterday morning, like every morning in the past five years, I put my cup of coffee on my desk, open my laptop, click simultaneously on the seven bookmarked pages that start my day and they all talk about the same thing: film. I browse the news, scroll down, then an article catches my attention and makes me spit out my coffee, out of my nose. I move from site to site, hoping that the article is just a rumour, but it’s no use. I know Empire Film Magazine would not lie to me, so I get a tissue, blow my nose, wipe the desk and stare at the article: ‘Adam Berg Hired For Videodrome Remake; Ads man will direct the new pic’. The shock is indescribable, the disappointment insurmountable. David Croneberg’s iconic ‘body-horror’ film has not just been green lit for a remake; it actually has a director, signifying that it probably has an ongoing script and a producer. As I stared in disbelief, the one question that kept running through my mind was ‘Why?’ Why remake a classic? Why remake a film that, even though did poorly commercially, is now a symbol, amongst many others, of media violence and a whistle-blower on eighties society’s apathy when it came to television programming. Why remake it now, of all times, when television itself is slowly dying, replaced by the smaller screen of our laptops and when its current programming is relying on massive budgets to keep at least a minimum amount of audience and survive the next season? All of these questions ran through my mind but then, after the emotional part of my brain calmed down, I thought that the ‘why’ I kept repeating was not only for the benefit of ‘Videodrome’. It was resonating for all remakes I could think of, good and bad. Why is Hollywood so hell-bent on remakes? The announcement of David Fincher taking over ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’, the opening of ‘Let me In’, the mess that was ‘Clash of the Titans’, all of these films have either aggravated or excited audiences, me included, but there is always that initial question of ‘why’, followed by an instant judgement on the project, either positive or negative. Thinking about it, I am guilty of always being very negative after any remake announcement and I am starting to think that I am wrong in doing so. After all, everyone deserves a second chance, even in film. Only problem is, when the first time around the film was a success and enjoys its days as a classic, why pull it out of retirement and give it a makeover? Is it only for the sake of money or is there actual artistic motivation behind it? I’d like to believe it’s the latter but sadly, it might be far from it.

If I asked any person on the street about their opinion on Hollywood remakes, I’d be lucky to get a passionate response. Most people have had, in one occasion or another, bad experiences with this type of film, either because one of their favourites was used, or because the result was that bad that they immediately deny the chance for the original to impress. The rare gems that make it past the initial stage of acceptance are always under immense pressure to be on the same level as their predecessor, so the remake seems to be the weak child that always tries to impress his parent, to little or no avail. His stepbrother, the reboot, has, at least since 2002 with the seminal film that resurrected superheroes, Sam Raimi’s ‘Spider Man’, been far more accepted. It managed to gross millions of dollars, is responsible for at least five current major franchises (Spider Man, X-Men, Batman, The Avengers, Star Trek and now Superman) and people are excited. Say reboot and everyone is all ears and no complaining. Why? Because a reboot does not necessarily mean same story, same exact characters, same universe. The reboot will take principal characters and twist them into completely different ones. Batman no longer has nipples on his suit and ridiculous enemies to fight (exit Mr. Freeze), but is dark, borderline psychotic and his enemies are gangsters, terrorists and religious fanatics. Familiar? Yes, it does symbolise modern day America within the comic book universe. A remake would’ve probably changed Batman’s costume, had different taglines and brought in the same villain again. Let’s face it; the poor remake is no match for the reboot in this day and age. When audiences are looking for something fresh, the reboot will take the original dish, keep the ingredients but make it taste like new and different. The remake gives the audience re-heated soup that will never taste as fresh as that first time.

Within the pantheon of remake titles, I can give some examples of failed attempts in trying to impress a second time, using the same material. Tim Burton’s famous flop, ‘Planet of the Apes’ (2001) proved that even though Hollywood had made giant leaps in moviemaking technology and imagery, it still could not beat that old-school feel you get when Charlton Heston swears at a monkey (ok, I mean ape) and you can see the prosthetics on the actors’ damn dirty paws. Despite Tim Roth’s relentless efforts to portray General Thade as the archetypal racist villain and Helena Bonham Carter’s Ari trying to dissolve this ape-human apartheid, Burton did not conjure up the charm of the original. This was for two reasons: number one, a common one amongst remakes that flopped, is because what started off as an alternative sequel to ‘Beneath the Planet of the Apes’ (1970) became a near 20-year battle amongst scriptwriters and 20th Century Fox, who could not agree on script, directors and actors. The end result was whatever could be salvaged of the original concept and a heavy reliance on special effects and on ‘the twist’ that enraged all geeks and fans of the franchise. Second, this is what happens when producers back a film that they do not believe in anymore! There is no charisma, no desire to create, no enthusiasm in the way this remake was done, just a feeling of ‘Let’s try and make as much money as fast as we can because this ship is sinking’. The film now lives in memory as one of the worst remakes ever made and as a warning about the heavy reliance on technology as opposed to plot and character development. The same can be said about the recent ‘Clash of the Titans’ (2010) remake, where director Louis Leterrier, a fan of the original (just like Tim Burton was a fan of the Apes franchise), wanted to bring the film to a new generation. I am the first to point out that the 1981 version was in no way perfect and that even though it is a classic in the fantasy genre, it became less accessible to later audiences and unfortunately, aged very badly.  In that instance, a remake was not without reason, however 2010 brought us 3D and as usual, Hollywood insisted on the film’s conversion to this new technology, especially after the record-breaking success of Cameron’s ‘Avatar’. Leterrier made concessions to the studio and behold the result; critics and fans booed the final product and its sequel ‘Wrath of the Titans’, I hear, is even worse.

Another instance of a failed remake is the 2006 pagan-horror film ‘The Wicker Man’ (‘Aaaahh, the bees, not the bees’). Yes, the Nicolas-Cage-goes-mad-and-hits-women film that made everyone laugh and realise how much he or she missed Christopher Lee. The original, made in 1976, was simplicity itself, including beautiful shots of the Scottish Isles, a very toned down, yet menacing, Christopher Lee, a very ambiguous hero (Sergeant Howie), resurrected folk songs, a controversial theme and, let’s all be honest, Britt Ekland’s dance scene (although to the disappointment of many men, it was later revealed that it had been a body double and not the actress herself). Beautiful and haunting, the film is described as the ‘Citizen Kane of horror’, largely because it slipped into obscurity after its release. This is the one instance where I disagree with Hollywood about remaking a film like ‘The Wicker Man’. The 2006 Nic Cage version threw out all meaning and controversy in favour of jump scares and gender reversals. If the sole reason was to lift the original film out of the shadows and to make it a nonsensical feminist promo meant for teenagers then mission very much accomplished. Acting, plot and sound were butchered in order to impress an unimpressed audience, Nicolas Cage as a laughable lead, unable to re-create the Christian stubbornness of Edward Woodward’s Howie and as much as I love Ellen Burstyn, she could not compare to the utterly chilling portrayal of Lee’s Lord Summersisle.  In an effort to attract the hip crowd, the film flopped and is now a cult rental in video stores, whereas the original still enjoys its place amongst the ranks of the greatest horror films.

I can honestly understand the concept of remake in one instance; the case of the foreign films. My father once pointed out to me ‘Some people, Ersi, do not want to read subtitles and try to understand a different culture’. Unfortunately, this does not just apply to US audiences, but many other countries too, yet the US has the monopoly on the English-language remake. It is an understandable want to remake a foreign film because the dialogue is in another language, the setting is in a wholly different country, the actors are unrecognisable and the culture does not seem familiar to other audiences and this has been a long-standing trend. Akira Kurosawa, the famed Japanese director, was fascinated by the westerns of John Ford and was so heavily influenced by the genre that he included in his films his equivalent of cowboys, the samurai, and kept Ford’s main theme, the extinction of the cowboy/samurai and the advent of industrialism that slowly pushes out all romantic notions of honour and justice. His most famous work, ‘The Seven Samurai’, was a genuine two-and-a-half-hour masterpiece in 1954, innovative, bold and now considered one of the pivotal influences of US directors Sergio Leone, Martin Scorsese, John Sturges and George Lucas. Sturges’ ‘The Magnificent Seven’ starring, amongst others, Yul Brynner and Charles Bronson, was the remake of Kurosawa’s film, done six years later, and is considered one of the most popular westerns in the history of the genre. What is fascinating is that the single US film genre was taken from its roots, taken to a country where the Americans ravaged only nine years earlier during World War II, reconstructed to fit Japanese culture and then the country that originated the concept remade its own final product later. This shows that the remake can prove to be very useful to spread an idea, a concept or a script, worldwide to audiences that would otherwise not understand. This is not just a question of reading subtitles, like my dad used to say. It’s the alien nature of the language and the culture that dissuades many people of going to the movies if a film like ‘The girl with the Dragon Tattoo’ was playing, hence Fincher’s swift remake, two years after the original. Who would have noticed a foreign film like ‘Ringu’ if Naomi Watts had not jumped on board of the remake and terrified everyone off their TV sets in ‘The Ring’. As we speak there is an ‘Old Boy’ remake in production, starring Josh Brolin, Elisabeth Olsen and Sharlto Copley, not because the original is not good and groundbreaking but because it could not be spread further than the few countries who could still either relate or appreciate it, in its original form. This goes for Kurosawa and Sturges, it goes for horror remakes like ‘The Ring’, ‘The Grudge’ or adventure like ‘Pathfinder’, or dramas like ‘The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo’, thrillers like DePalma’s upcoming ‘Passion’ and for all other future remakes of foreign films. There is that thought that maybe we have become way too lazy to even try and understand foreign films but personally I do not think it’s laziness so much as it shows that cinema is inherently and involuntarily racist thanks to widespread Hollywood involvement all over the world. It is worth pointing out though that remakes based on foreign films have not been tragically disappointing. Yes, some have failed to convey the original’s message, yet most have created successful movies either way because there is still some respect for the material (with some exceptions, *cough*Godzilla, 1998*cough*).

Okay so, trying to share a country’s filmmaking with the rest of the world through a remake, that I can jump onboard with, because it also gives the audience the choice. Would you like to stick with the original or with the ‘international’ version? There is significant enough change to make a separate movie and to add some innovation in it so it does not appear to be a completely different film. I can accept that. But what I cannot accept is remaking a movie on the sole excuse that it is old. This ageist stance that Hollywood has been developing since the mid-1990s has taken a very serious turn and has carried on till today. Whenever someone turns around and affirms that a movie has aged very badly, a probable cause being that it was not good in the first place, yes I will agree that in some cases time does not favour cinema. Not everything that is old is necessarily a classic. But why meddle in something that was not good in the first place and why not let it age and die in peace? What could go so wrong if 1924’s ‘The Wolfman’ was left silent instead of the stale 2010 version whose only merit was its retro use of prosthetics (oh, the irony).  What is so bad with leaving ‘Psycho’ to its glory as the first slasher, instead of hiring Vince Vaughn to badly emulate Anthony Perkins’ performance in a colour version? Was the black and white really that bothersome?

It is quite obvious that most of the remakes I am outraged at are the horror films, who when they became unsuccessful in their production of sequels, decided to start all over again after ruining what was left of the old horror generation. Carpenter, surprisingly enough, led the remake way with ‘The Thing’ in 1982 and showed it could be done by taking only the material and the atmosphere and re-arranging the entire mood to fit a new generation’s fears. The same thing applies for ‘The Invasion of the Body Snatchers’, which has been through about four remakes, some with different titles, trying to bring the original’s sense of paranoia to the new generations that had not lived during the height of the Cold War in the fifties. These were not made to make the film look better and more appealing to teenagers. They were made because their concept was so terrifying in nature but the context had to be slightly updated. The latest to work was Snyder’s ‘Dawn of the Dead’ in 2004 where the theme of consumerism was still a central issue, very much discussed then and today. Surprise, surprise though, it doesn’t work with every horror (or any) film, as a long string of remakes has proven from 2000 onwards. ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, ‘Friday the 13th’, ‘The Omen’, ‘Halloween’, ‘Prom Night’ (who the hell cares about proms anymore, really?). These were remakes that did not scare; they mildly entertained and slipped into the video store racks faster than you can say ‘corn syrup’. This is what Hollywood is doing now, it wants to easily entertain and since it cannot solely rely on its big-budget films all year-round, it has to rely on remakes to fill in the gaps, a cheap scapegoat that is starting to age itself, very badly. It’s like introducing someone to an aunt, every year, after she has had a plastic surgery. First her nose looks a little crooked, then her forehead seems strangely triangular than by the tenth time she has been introduced, she looks like shit. That is what a horror remake has become; a cut and paste face of a film that has been through so much hacking and cutting that in the end becomes barely recognisable and quite frankly ugly to watch.

So there I am, in front of my screen, coffee getting cold, staring at the ‘Videodrome’ announcement still, pondering these facts. It is safe to say that I am not a remake fan but that does not mean I am willing to shut them out and pretend they don’t exist. I have been surprised at some recent ones like ‘The Hills have Eyes’, ‘3:10 to Yuma’, ‘True Grit’, ‘The Departed’ or ‘The Mummy’ and it is these and many others that have made me ponder which one I liked more, the original or its new shiny follower. That is rare and special! But I have come across the worst of attempts to revive a classic that was and will always be alive either way. As I scroll through a rough list of remakes bound for a cinema near you, I see names that I never thought Hollywood would dare touch again. Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ will pass under the knife and so will ‘The Crow’ (met by heavy opposition and production difficulties) and I still wonder. Yes, remakes can work favourably for cinema’s forgotten and foreign but not being able to cope with an aging film or just plain leaving it in its own mess seems impossible, so Hollywood hires ad-makers, video clip directors or just newcomers to the studios to try to squeeze as much dollar juice as they can with very little integrity and passion going into them. Yes some have exceeded (my) expectations but most seem to inspire apathy and a sense of ‘déjà vu’, only with more CG effects, younger actors and inexperienced directors that bore most of the audience. So in conclusion, I present to you my letter to American cinema:

Hollywood, from me to you, I have been following your career with great and unabashed interest and thanks to you, I know where my passion lies but please, do not take your most memorable and prized achievements and turn them into cash cows. You try and bring concepts and stories to a public that doesn’t understand foreign filmmaking as opposed to yours and I can get behind that, but what I cannot accept is you defacing your wall of fame and silliconing your icons for the sake of dollar bills and cheap thrills. The originality and thinking you have today comes from your past and your greatest features so don’t turn around and spit on them. They are the legacy you leave for your children, not idols of clay to re-shape whenever you feel like it.