No.

71 SEP/OCT ’ 17 £6

TRUTH & MOVIES

T HE C AL L ME BY YO UR NA ME IS S UE
 Directed by LUCA GUADAGNINO
Starring TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET, ARMIE HAMMER, ESTHER GARREL
Released 27 OCTOBER

Luca Guadagnino’s scintillating follow-up to A Bigger Splash

is a touchy-feely sceen romance for our time and for all time.

H
ave you ever regretted not reaching out to someone, or telling
them how you really feel? Love makes us do crazy, stupid
things. It can inspire bold declarations and uncharacteristic
bravery, just as it can strangle us with the fear of rejection. In
any case, love tends to leave its mark in mysterious ways, and
in order to fully understand it we must first learn to take the bad with the good.
Based on André Aciman’s 2007 novel of the same name, this beautiful film
concerns a brief but lasting romance between a 17-year-old Italian-American
boy and a twentysomething American man who is more experienced in
matters of the heart but no less susceptible to its sudden, all-consuming
desires. The when and where are established with two handwritten subtitles
that feel like the opening lines of an unselfconsciously earnest teenage
confessional. Summer 1983; Somewhere in Northern Italy. It’s here that
Elio (Timothée Chalamet) meets Oliver (Armie Hammer), a handsome PhD
student who is staying with Elio’s family at their idyllic countryside villa for
six weeks. Dressed in chinos, Converse and a loose-fitting Ralph Lauren shirt,
Oliver cuts a cool, self-assured figure as he introduces himself to Elio’s father
(Michael Stuhlbarg) with a firm handshake and mother (Amira Casar) with a
warm kiss on either cheek.
The arrival of a new guest is an annual event in the Perlman household,
and so Elio, being the good host that he is, welcomes Oliver by offering
to take his bags up to the bedroom which Elio has temporarily
vacated, then continues his cordial routine by showing Oliver
around. But what starts out as yet another lazy summer spent reading books,
swimming and transcribing music under the hot Lombardian sun quickly
turns into a journey of self-discovery and sexual awakening.
Initially, Elio seems blissfully unaware of the chemical reaction
that has already been set off inside him, until an innocent game of
lawn volleyball triggers a deep yearning he simply cannot ignore.
Later, when Elio’s mother reads aloud to him from a 16th century
French Renaissance novel about a knight who worries that his love
for a princess might be unrequited, one existential question strikes
a chord: ‘Is it better to speak or to die?’ Should Elio express his true
feelings to Oliver or should he keep them bottled up? Does he take a leap
of faith now or risk living with the question of ‘what if?’ forever? Being a
somewhat precocious, somewhat naïve young man, he decides to find out
what it means to open oneself up to another person.

06 LEAD REVIEW
LEAD REVIEW 07
 Emotionally speaking, this is director Luca Guadagnino’s most honest
and intelligent work to date, a lyrical, sensuous, aching love story that
skips all the usual coming-of-age beats in favour of finding a gentler, less
conventional rhythm. There’s none of the brashness of his 2016 English-
language debut, A Bigger Splash, nor the staginess of his previous feature
“This is a profound from 2009, I Am Love. Like those films, this one is visually ravishing and
filled with erotic motifs – never have such mundane acts as cracking a
study of the different soft-boiled egg or drinking a glass of apricot juice been imbued with such
palpable frisson. (Incidentally, Call Me by Your Name was lensed not by

ways people, regardless Guadagnino’s regular cinematographer Yorick Le Saux but by Sayombhu
Mukdeeprom, whose credits include Miguel Gomes’ Arabian Nights and

of their sexual Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past
Lives and who recently shot Guadagnino’s upcoming remake of Suspiria.)

orientation, process At one point Elio’s father asks Oliver to help him catalogue a set of slides
consisting of ancient Athenian sculptures, which he describes in amorous,
homoerotic terms. If this scene causes eyebrows to arch, it’s only because
complex physiological Hammer himself has a body worthy of being cast in bronze. Looking like
Michelangelo’s muse, Oliver is a picture of classical masculinity, all firm
impulses.” muscles and impossible curves, and Guadagnino makes sure that it is not
only Elio who spends time gazing at his impressive form.

Call Me by Your Name was shot on location just a few miles from
Guadagnino’s home in Crema, and he makes no attempt to hide the fact
that his affection for the period and setting is as strong as his fondness
for the characters. Throughout the film Guadagnino adorns the already

08 LEAD REVIEW
evocative milieu with era-specific pop culture trinkets – everyone from
Phil Collins and Robert Mapplethorpe to Talking Heads and Fido Dido –
which presumably must have had some bearing on the director’s formative
years. In addition to superficially indulging his own nostalgia, Guadagnino
makes several other artistic choices that speak to his personal influences
and tastes, chief among them being the use of two wistful ballads written
for the film by Sufjan Stevens, ‘Mystery of Love’ and ‘Visions of Gideon’,
the second of which plays out over the devastating final shot.
On a more contentious note, it’s worth noting Guadagnino’s decision
not to show same-sex intercourse. When Elio and Oliver do eventually
sleep together, we see them clamber onto bed and clumsily undress each
other before the camera drifts suggestively towards an open window.
It’s surprising that, having spent so long teasing this climactic union,
Guadagnino should exert restraint in the moment, though in doing so
he arguably preserves the intimacy of the scene. Lust may be the spark
that ignites Elio and Oliver’s passionate affair, yet by not explicitly
scratching that particular carnal itch Guadagnino further emphasises the
universality of his film’s core themes. Like the book, Call Me by Your Name
will almost certainly be championed as a vital queer text, but at its most
nakedly unambiguous – as when Elio de-stones a piece of fruit with no
intention of eating it, or when Marzia (Esther Garrel), the local girl with
the long-term crush, makes a kind gesture just to let him know she still
cares – the film is a profound study of the different ways people, regardless
of their sexual orientation, process complex physiological impulses.
All the while there is the nagging sense that the summer – and with
it Elio and Oliver’s relationship – is nearing its inevitable end. After
Oliver leaves for America, a visibly distraught Elio is consoled by his
father, who offers a sage piece of advice that doubles as a devastating
eulogy for his own squandered want. He tells his son not to bury his
pain because, as he so eloquently puts it, to feel nothing so as not to
feel anything is a terrible waste. The framing of this scene is crucial,
as by cutting from a two-shot to a close-up of Stuhlbarg, Guadagnino
encourages us to reflect on these wise words not just as they relate
to Elio but also our own experiences of love and loss. Maybe you’ll
recall the vivid sensation of your fingertips tentatively dancing with
another’s, or the flush of nervous excitement which preceded that
first kiss, or the mournful, lingering thought of what might have been
had you only spoken from the heart. ADAM WOODWARD
ANTICIPATION.
Luca Guadagnino takes on a modern literary classic.
ENJOYMENT.
Just stunning.
IN RETROSPECT.
A beautiful film about love and longing, one you’ll want (and
need) to watch again and again and again.
LEAD REVIEW 09
 T HE C AL L ME BY YO UR NA ME IS S UE

12 – 15 34
Invisible Touch Extra Assignment:
A conversation with Call Me by Your Name
A Nos Amours
director Luca Guadagnino about how to
Looking back to Maurice Pialat’s 1983
capture love on camera.
masterpiece about a teenage girl sewing
her wild oats.
16
Extra Assignment: 36 – 41
A Room With a View Eat a Peach
An appreciation of the 1985 Merchant- How fruit and sex have overlapped and
Ivory classic, focusing on Daniel Day-Lewis’ intermingled throughout the history of art,
unique performance. literature and culture.

18 – 23 42 – 43
Love My Way Threads #3
Call Me By Your Name stars Armie Hammer Men’s swimming trunks are placed under
and Timothée Chalamet discuss life and the microscope in our column about
love, while we meet up-and-coming French fashion and film.
actor Esther Garrel.
44
24 – 33 Extra Assignment:
First Love A Trip to the Country
Twelve tall tales of formative movie love
One of Luca Guadagnino’s key inspirations
from a selection of cinephiles.
is given its dues in this loving recap.
012 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
013
 T
here’s an obvious link between Italian director
Luca Guadagnino’s breakthrough film and his
most recent one. 2009’s I Am Love lavished in
the erotic potential of food, with the camera
sensually gliding down long dining tables
packed with gorgeous edible treats. In his new
film, Call Me by Your Name, an intense formative love match is
juxtaposed against orchards of over-ripe fruit. In one scene,
Armie Hammer scoffs down a number of soft-boiled eggs in
a manner that’s enough to get any innocent viewer a little hot
under the collar. Perhaps the thing that ties all Guadagnino’s
recent movies together – an abstract mission statement of
sorts – is the he way builds up an erotic ambience around his
characters, almost making it impossible for them to keep their
desires concealed.
He tells great stories, but he also builds the conditions for love
to blossom. Call Me by Your Name is his greatest achievement,
a clever and intuitive adaptation of André Aciman’s 2007
novel about a summertime fling in Liguria of the early ’80s.
Young Elio (Timothée Chalamet) transcribes sheet music,
reads books and indulges in a course of intense relaxation at
his father’s picturesque country estate. Then, one day, Oliver
(Armie Hammer), an upstart American academic, rolls up for
a summer internship, and things start to happen. We speak to
the director about his hand-off, naturalistic filmmaking style
and how he managed to create a yearning, sweat-dappled
screen romance for the ages.
LWLies: Do you believe there is such a thing as chemistry
between actors? Guadagnino: That is a very complex question.
I'm not drawn in by the concept of actors or actresses. That’s
something that carries with it the idea of drama, the idea of
fiction, the idea of a controlled and constructed world. It’s
something completely different from how I see performance
and how I enjoy feeding a storyline through a movie. I like the
emotions unfolding from the performances or the performers.
014 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
So in a way, my answer is, of course, I don't take for granted
the necessity of a great chemistry. On the other hand, I would
say that it is my duty as a director to make sure that nothing
falls in the middle between the characters and the capacity
of the camera to capture the invisible elements that happen
to be in the performance. I need to make sure that they are
oblivious of their own selves. They need to drown in the movie
and in the story.
Is this a personal theory, that it is the job of the actors to
become oblivious of themselves? Well, it’s not a theory. I
mean, I wish I could have the depth and the cultural significance
to create theories. But to answer your question, no, I think that
you should find all the ways in which you can communicate
with every single performer that is individual to them. You
never speak in generic terms. You must find a channel to make
yourself understood. Make sure there is not too much intellect
at stake and that the emotion is natural. And also, you have to
enjoy the company of the people you are working with so that
they surrender and allow the camera to make an X-ray of what
is inside of them.
Did you spend a lot of time talking about emotions with the
actors? You can not talk about emotions, because then you
are basically missing the point of filmmaking. You have to
orchestrate the elements in a way that emotions can run free.
That’s more what I’m interested in doing.
Do you recall the first time that Armie (Hammer) and Timothée
(Chalamet) first met? I met with them in different places and
at different times. I met Armie in 2010. I had seen him in David
Fincher’s The Social Network and found him extraordinary. I
was instantly attracted to him. I met Timothée in 2012 in New
York, and the guy was already such a vivid, feverish soul. I
immediately understood that he was the only candidate, even
though I was not yet the director. Timothée came to Crema
where I live and where we shot the film. He spent a month in
the house in Italy with me and the team in order to build his to a degree which you get to see the invisible more. The
character. He wanted to understand the environment, work actors, or as I prefer to call them, the performers, feel
on talking Italian, ride bikes and play the piano. And just a completely protected and embraced by a quiet force.
week before we started shooting we got Armie. The meeting
between them was quite extraordinary because there was a Another element of this film is how it depicts the sense of
sense of companionship and camaraderie straight away. It was time passing in a very subtle way. I think that it is my job to
something that was never contrived. It was quite natural. decide in advance the sense of time and space. Then every
day you deal with the mundanity and the vulgarity of the next
What was your approach to filming bodies in this movie? problem to be resolved. I wanted to have a sense of laziness
I wanted to have a point of view that was unfiltered and and the suspension of time that you get from the summer.
absolutely natural. We decided to use one camera and one But when we were shooting I had to resolve a lot of problems.
lens. And then there is the fact that it’s the summer, and we
need people to be in the mood for summer. The fact that it’s
summer leads the characters to be half naked, to be more free
with their bodies. And we just observed them. There was no
specific attitude to the bodies. It’s just that I like to see people
behave. I think movies are about recording behaviour without
any sort of filter. The bodies on display are the bodies of each
and every character, so not just Oliver and Elio. The attitude
is such that the camera lingers on them in the way of a
natural gaze.

Does this idea of the natural gaze behind the film’s stripped
back visual style? Yeah, let’s say yes. It’s how you get to the
essence of an idea. And I hope that I can further understand
what is really buried in me as a filmmaker. In general, the
exuberance of the cinematic language needs to meet a sense
of restraint. It’s more about self-analysis than anything else.

The house itself in the film seems like such an important

element. I knew the house in advance. It was my dream to buy
the house but I couldn’t afford it so I sublimated my desire by
using it as the Perlman’s house. And once we had to think of
the movie, the book by André Aciman is set in Liguria which
is a little different from Lombardia as it’s by the sea. And we
moved it to a town inside Lombardia as a sort of different take
on the idea of the Italian summer
Your cinematographer, Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, feels like a
tremendous fit with the subject and location of this movie.
I felt that Sayombhu had the moral, ethical and emotional
balance to make this movie the way I had told him it had to be
done. And that's why we ended up working on this movie and
also Suspiria afterwards.
You’ve talked about his spiritual side. Was that evident on
this film? Sayombhu comes from a different culture. He is a
Buddhist, and his priorities are quite different from those of
a corrupted westerner. It's quite refreshing to have someone
who can quite simply express something that you would
never talk about, that is so alien to the hyper ideology of
capitalism. It's really riveting and it's a great lesson in life.
And that, in a way, drives a lot of the atmosphere of the set,
It’s a miracle. Movies are miracles. When they happen to be
coherent and then get recognition, it’s kind of a miracle.
I’m not saying that we didn’t know what we were doing, but
sometimes it is also part of the story that you don’t expect
things to eventually happen. I don’t believe if a director tells
you that he or she has some grand plan where everything in
the movie has been devised, because it’s an exoticism. It’s
not true. Or, to paraphrase Jean Renoir, ‘you must think of
leaving the door open to reality when you're making a movie’.
Otherwise you get into a world of oppression and suffocation.
Talking of Jean Renoir, the film recalls his 1936 film, A Trip
to the Country. Oh yeah of course, that was one of our
absolute touchstones. We really looked at that film very hard
– such a great movie and still unmatched. I wanted to pay
homage to a lot of cinema that I love. Also in my imagination
were Renoir, Rivette and Rohmer – let’s put all the Rs
together. Add Pialat and Bernando Bertolucci and you have
the cocktail of influences we used to make this movie
Call Me by Your Name is releseased on 27 October.

015
 ames Ivory’s stylish and literate EM Forster
adaptation from 1985, A Room with a View, is packed
with veteran larcenists who merrily pickpocket one
another throughout the film. The most delicious and
flagrant of these is Maggie Smith as Charlotte Bartlett, the prim
and forbidding old-maid aunt of Lucy Honeychurch (Helena
Bonham-Carter). Actors like Judi Dench and Denholm Elliott
are also on hand to purloin scenes from the leads. Rupert
Graves, as Lucy’s younger brother, even goes so far as to rob
Julian Sands of his rightful status as the film’s heartthrob, one-
upping him in vigour, charm and boyish prettiness.
Daniel Day-Lewis, playing Lucy’s prissy, effete, supercilious
fiancé Cecil Vyse, rivals neither as an object of desire in the
film - and it is one of the many miracles of his performance
that, at the apex of Day-Lewis’s very masculine, sexually
magnetic beauty, Cecil does not register as attractive. The
character can’t be as handsome as the lead, so Day-Lewis
makes it his job not to be – and therefore he conceals his
looks behind costume, mannerisms, voice and deportment.
Day-Lewis, who reportedly time travelled to turn-of-the-
century England and lived there as a member of the landed
gentry for four years in order to prepare for the role, is Cecil
Vyse: this foolish, pitiable pseud; this preening, pretentious,
oblivious would-be intellectual.
How does he do it? Day-Lewis operates on two registers:
one might be termed ‘subtle hamming’, and one that is
sincere and deeply soulful. At times he plays both at once. The
hamming is most enjoyable in a scene where Cecil and Lucy
walk through a wood together, and share perhaps the most
miserable, bathetic kiss that has ever been captured on film.
For context: Lucy has returned to England to compose herself
after a much-frowned-upon tryst in Italy with the deeply
unsuitable George Emerson. When Cecil and Lucy take a walk
together, Cecil enquires if he might kiss her – a sizeable error,
showing that he is so bloodless and unmasculine as to have
to ask.
Lucy consents, and he leans in with closed eyes for a
timorous peck on the lips – and then Day-Lewis does heaven
only knows what, as the camera accompanies him and Helena
016 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
Bonham-Carter into a close-up. His approach is halting, his
lips are all wrong. His glasses don’t just slip off his nose but
become somehow entangled and skew-whiff. All the while he
maintains a chaste hand on Lucy’s shoulder, not so much for
the heat of physical contact, clearly, but in order to steady
himself as he goes in for the worst make-out session of
all time.
His and Lucy’s mumbled half-apologies in the instant that
follows only increase the already excruciating cringe factor,
but Day-Lewis is playing this with delectation, too, imbuing the
scene with something like joy. This is subtle hamming of the
highest order. But on top of these perfectly executed tics, Day-
Lewis somehow adds pathos and heart. The moment comes
when Cecil accepts Lucy’s termination of their engagement,
with dignity and composure, hiding his hurt behind the English
manners that have come to rescue him like old friends.
At this point Cecil has withstood some brutal home truths
from Lucy, who lashes out at him in the anger that she feels for
herself. Cecil asks Lucy if she will at least shake hands with him
– and this scene functions as a mirror image of the earlier one
when he requested a kiss, except that this time we understand
Cecil, and his plea is a self-denying one, perhaps the most
romantic in the whole film. Day-Lewis performs this soulful,
candid aspect of Cecil so astutely, blunting the mannered
edges of the character, marking out all his weariness, and
playing, too, a hopeless attempt at saving face in this painful
situation. A beautiful coda in which Cecil silently picks up his
shoes ends Day-Lewis’s involvement in the film, and ensures
he lives on long after it.
For all Day-Lewis’s brilliance in other films, his acts of
transformation – his ogres and heroes – those characters that
rampage through a film with breathless abandon, it’s always
Cecil who comes to the fore. Something in him at the start of
his career recognised the possibilities in the role. He saw how
to transcend writing, how to forge someone from so little. It’s
an act of generosity and kindness to paint his character that
way, to give him so much attention; and to give us so much to
dwell on when we watch the film again to try and work out
how, exactly, he did it
TATE BRITAIN

WHITEREAD
RACHEL
12 SEP – 21 JAN 2018

The modern British artist who matters

– The Guardian

F R E E F O R TAT E M E M B E R S
P I M L I CO u

Sponsored by Supported by

Amanda and Glenn Fuhrman

With additional support from the Rachel Whiteread

Exhibition Supporters Circle, Tate Americas Foundation,
Tate International Council, Tate Patrons and Tate Members

Rachel Whiteread Untitled (Pink Torso), 1995 (Detail) © Rachel Whiteread

Photo © Tate (Seraphina Neville and Mark Heathcote)
018 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
 LWLies: What’s your fondest memory from being on set?
Armie Hammer: If I had to pick one thing it would be the
meals. Luca is a consummate epicurean, and watching how
he sensually interacts with everything, it’s like he truly wants
to fuck everything around him. It makes you enjoy the food
more, it makes you enjoy the wine more, the ambience, the
sensations, the fabric, the tablecloth, everything. There was
this one meal we had in a little tiny town called Orzoni,
we must have ordered at least a kilo of caviar. We
ate caviar and drank ice-cold vodka and had
amazing wine from the wine cellar. I recently
went back to Crema, where we shot the film,
largely to see Luca, but equally largely to go
to that restaurant and see Stefano the chef.
Timothée Chalamet: Just the memories
of Armie and Michael [Stuhlbarg] and Luca,
exploring the town, hanging out, watching
films together, getting espresso… There was
a family bond that felt especially strong on this
film. It was such a unique opportunity to work with a really
generous and kind cast and crew. Crema is Luca’s home so we
were very much in a Luca Guadagnino film.
What does happiness mean to you?
AH: Happiness is that headspace where you are so thoroughly
content exactly where you are, with who you’re with, that you
don’t feel the need to look at your phone, you don’t feel the
need to look around. You’re there, and you’re still.
TC: It’s that feeling of flow. I think you can accomplish flow
doing anything, it can be stapling papers, it can be playing
sport, it can be the way you drive a car. If you can achieve
020 T h e C a l l m e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
that kind of flow where it becomes mindless, sensory and
instinctive – that’s happiness.
When did you fall in love with acting?
AH: When I was about 12, I was living in the Cayman Islands, and I
saw Home Alone – it looked like the most fun thing in the world.
He was in his house, he had miniguns, he had flamethrowers,
he had gadgets, he had booby traps. In my child-like brain,
that was acting. It never hit me how real it was until
much later when I almost got fired by my agent
at the time. She called and said, ‘You’re not
working, you’re my only client who doesn’t
work, I’m firing you.’ That’s when it became
real and more about the work, and allowing
fear of failure to be a motivating force.
TC: When I got to LaGuardia high school,
which is a performing arts school in New
York. Prior to that I had done some commercial
acting, and when you’re selling products it’s a case
of who can smile the biggest. With LaGuardia everything
was about acting and reacting and addressing the existential
questions of acting. It became about finding truth in art.
What’s your definition of a great holiday?
AH: Being somewhere remote enough that when you turn off
your cell phone you are unreachable, and you can unplug and
spend time with your family, spend time with yourself, spend
time doing nothing, and just enjoy it. When I’m on vacation I like
to be hot, I like to be warm enough to sweat – that’s my goal.
TC: Where you feel like you’re having time off, there’s no
obligation to do anything and you can just recharge.
How would you describe your relationship with your co-star?
AH: We have a fantastic relationship, maybe one of the best
I’ve ever had on a film. Timothée is such a special person
in terms of the nature of who he is, and the talent that he
possesses, which is just insane. I’m a little older than he is,
so there were times that would kinda go, “Hey, listen, I know
that you’re gonna do whatever you wanna do, but from my
experience I’ve learned blah blah blah...” and he never
bristled at anything I said. He’s just a very open,
terrific person.
TC: It’s a really great relationship. We’ve got a
real brotherly bond. I really lucked out getting
to work with such a talented actor, someone
I look up to so much. He’s also an amazing
husband and an amazing father – he’s 30 and
I’m 21 so to me he’s like a roadmap of sorts.
What does love feel like to you?
AH: An overabundance of vibrations in your body
that all make you want to explode, like your body
can’t contain it all.
TC: The definition changes by the day, and what I can think
of today as far as what love is to me would be having the
security to receive warmth.
When did you last cry?
AH: My grandma, about two weeks ago, she basically called
all of the grandkids to say goodbye, and to say that she loved
us. She’d been having strokes and she just felt that it was her
time. That rocked me to the core, I completely fell apart. I
was in the middle of a press tour for Cars 3 and dropped
everything to go see my grandma. So, that was an amazing
experience because we all cried, but we also laughed a lot
more than we cried. We all got together and told stories
about her and she told us stories about each other and it was
just a really beautiful thing.
TC: Um, I don’t know.
When did you last see your father?
AH: The safe answer is probably two or three
months ago.
TC: About two-and-a-half weeks ago. We
went to a café in New York; he was about to
fly to France and we just had a nice little
moment before he jumped on the subway.
What’s the last great movie you saw?
AH: The last great, great movie I saw
was Apocalypse Now. It’s the only movie
I have saved on my iPad that’s not a
children’s movie.
TC: I just saw Glengarry Glen Ross with my mom
and it was awesome.
What’s the most romantic gesture you’ve ever made?
AH: I don’t necessarily believe in marriage, at least not the
way people believed in marriage 50 years ago, where you
got married to have a baby. But the biggest gesture I’ve ever
made was committing to my wife. I was like, ‘I want to marry
you. I know how much that means to me and I know what
I hope it means to you. And then I want to have a baby, I
want to start a family, I want to create an entire life with you.’
That’s a very powerful and romantic gesture, I think.
TC: Um… I mean, you can’t go wrong with flowers
021
022 T h e C a l l m e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
LWLies: Do you think you were born into acting?
I think that it’s a difficult question. I first acted when I
was 16, and before that I wanted to be a lawyer. So maybe
there’s something in between acting and being a lawyer
that I have yet to discover. Before that I wanted to be a
musician – I played the violin. I guess that’s in the same
sphere? Before that, at the age of ten, I saw a play at a
theatre. I saw this young French actress and thought she
was so amazing. I wanted to get up on stage with her right
then. That was the first feeling I had. Then, at 15, wanted to
learn, so I went to school.
Did you do theatre?
Never. I would like to, but I’m too afraid of that. I
hope to do it some day.
Is it scary acting in films?
Yes, all the time! Both before and after.
When I’ve got to do something big the next
day I sometimes want to cry. But at the
same time, I feel completely comfortable
being scared about my job. I like to be scared.
I want to be scared. When I begin a scene and
when I start to act, the fear evaporates. So it’s not
a problem, it’s just me and my feelings. I think it’s actually
quite exciting.
How do you feel about fame?
I don’t think about that, because I don’t know what fame
means. It’s good to be famous in that you have more choice.
You can do what you want to do. I have more scripts and
requests for roles on my desk, and that’s a good thing.
What movies were you watching when you grew up?
At 15 I had already seen all the François Truffaut movies, and
all of Jacques Demy’s movies. Not all the Robert Bresson
movies at that point, but most of them. Maybe I started
younger than other people on that stuff? I also watch all the
big commercial movies too. I love cinema, and have done
since my childhood. It’s the thing that connects me to a lot
of my friends.
What preparation did you do for your role as spurned love
Marzia in Call Me By Your Name?
Director Luca Guadagnino gave me the script at the end of
February at the beginning of 2016. I started to see an English
coach in Paris because, originally, it was going to be English
language. Then, when I arrived on the set, we started to
shooting and Luca said that we could do the dialogue in French.
So all the parts were translated. So I learned the whole part in
English, then ended up saying it in French. This is actually the
best way ever to learn a new language.
Did you read the novel?
Yes, but only after the film. I wanted to have just
the world of Crema, the set world and the
crew’s world to deal with. To read it would
make things too confusing. I started
reading it early on, but then stopped. It’s
such a great book, and Andre was on set.
Did you talk to Luca about your role?
He started to speak about Marzia the
first time we met in Paris. When he gives a
character to someone, it’s theirs. All he does is
makes the choice. It a reflection of his confidence
I guess. I had the responsibility and I could do with Marzia
whatever I felt. In the week before the shoot, it was really about
looking for their energy within the context of this big house,
and during this season. Everything personal was my work.
How was shooting this film different to shooting Lover For a
Day with your father, Philippe?
Oh my God, it’s the opposite. For Lover For a Day, we spent
three hours a week for nine months rehearsing, and then on
the set we do one take, and one take only. We never do two
takes, because that’s my father’s method. We talk about our
characters and the story in that nine months, and then when
we’re on the set, we don’t talk at all. We just do it. With Luca
and all his crew, we all talk together, we discuss the scenes and
we analyse the takes to try and work out how we can make it
better. The set is pure energy. On Lover For a Day, there is no
energy. It’s like you’re sitting on a train
023
024 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
025
 BY A IME E K NI G H T

Smoky eyes. Cherry lips. Platform heels and legs for days. Actually,
you’re only 5’9, I’d later discover. IMDb isn’t ubiquitous yet. Or
maybe it is? I’m seven years old, it’s Christmas Day, and I’ve just
fallen in love for the first time. Timothy James Curry. You are
the typecast British sex fiend of my pre-pubescent fantasies.
Don’t dream it. Be it. Or tell your third grade teacher all about
it until she bans you from talking to her. The next few years get
pretty weird. Weekday afternoons in the stale public library,
memorising your filmography and giffing up an Angelfire website
in your honour. Smart money says I’m the only eleven year old
in that Rocky Horror roleplay chat room, where strangers from
all timezones descend and pretend to be you. When my allotted
two hours of Internet Exploring are up, the librarian sends me
home. Cross my heart and hope to hear your throaty tones on
some after-school cartoon. Come to think of it, I heard you
the first time I ever went to the movies. Who but you could
manifest such a sexual smog-monster as Hexxus? For a decade
I schlepped back to that cinema to see you on the high seas
with Kermit and Piggy, get micro-agressive with Lucy Liu, and…
do whatever you did in Scary Movie 2. I fell asleep. I’m sorry. I’ll
hire Clue from the video shop 100 times to atone. Always the
BY ROX A NNE S A N C T O butler (or pirate, concierge, evil penguin). Never the romantic
lead. But when your powers combine with those of Bernadette
I lived in Holland for seven years where I attended an Peters and Carol Burnett, you make the hardest Fuck-Marry-Kill
international college. I was around 14 years old when a Dutch scenario a white girl film nerd could dream of. Don’t dream it.
friend of mine introduced me to Jan Wolkers’ ‘Turkish Delight’
(Turks Fruit), the only compulsory read he actually enjoyed
during his high-school career. I read the book in two days, and
have read it at least 20 times since. My friend invited me to
watch the movie adaption by Paul Verhoeven. I was terrified
this captivating story of the young, broke artist Eric and his
intense love for the beautiful, susceptible Olga wouldn’t
make the transition to the screen. I feared the obsessive
intensity of Eric’s feelings and the complexity of Olga’s ever-
searching character would somehow get lost. Yet in deploying
subtle details, Verhoeven manages to highlight the emotional
landscape of Wolkers’ characters in a manner that almost
seems to encompass every single word and situation in the
book. Turkish Delight was my first cinematic love, and sparked
a fascination for complex relationships.
While many of my classmates were going googly-eyed over
Hollywood romances with guaranteed happy endings, I sought
out the kind of love stories that came with a biting dose of
reality – the toxic cocktail of emotions, the raw, deep and
profound ugliness and excruciating pain that forms part of
what we conceive of as love. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate
soppy moments of unflinching eye-gazing and grand romantic
gestures but, if you ask me, this quote from the hit series Six
Feet Under sums up the real meaning of love: “Some pretty
little thing catches your eye, and the next thing you know, it’s
been 56 years. And you shit all over yourself in a movie theatre,
and she’s the only one that’ll help you clean it up. That’s love.”

026 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
 B Y C A S PA R S A L M O N

It was raining on the Champs Elysees. My parents were

accompanying high school students to a showing of The
Adventures of Baron Munchausen and, because they couldn't
find a babysitter, I was along for the ride, way past my
bedtime. The high school students all smoked and seemed
unfathomably adult and cool. There was a little girl in the film
- pretty. She had a serious demeanour and, like me that night,
was just hanging out with adults like it wasn’t a thing.
I loved her - for her lack of cuteness, her intelligence, the
readiness with which she set out on her adventures with the
Baron. I was myself a small, perhaps peculiar child; I longed
for the assuredness of the company of adults, and to stop
being a child. When I saw The Sweet Hereafter years later
I didn't realise the girl in the film, now a teenager, whose
maturity and sadness opposed her to the manipulations of
adults, was the same little girl I remembered.
When the internet came along, I worked out who the girl
was; that Sarah Polley had been both. By then I was working
out, too, a few things about myself, who I loved and wanted to
be. When I fell for Sarah Polley at the age of eight, I was drawn
to her out of kinship; I wanted to be her, to be so pretty and
BY G RE G E VA N S wise. Something about her vulnerability and force of spirit;
her bright, open face; her lack of cuteness, somehow, too
Has a song ever made you fall in love with an actor? As bizarre – all of this induced in me a keening towards her that was an
as it may sound, it has happened to me. In 2007, The Teenagers, impulse not of love but of recognition.
a French electro-pop band, released a song called ‘Starlett
Johansson.’ No prize for guessing whom it was about
I knew who Scarlett Johansson was through films like
Lost in Translation and Ghost World. She was undoubtedly
beautiful but I didn't feel a connection to the icy and awkward
personality she transmitted on screen. This song managed to
change my perception of her almost instantly. It’s a bouncy
ballad where three hipsters list various facts about Scarlett.
She was born in 1984. She studied at 8th on Broadway. She
doesn't believe in monogamy. She was a star.
It felt perverse, but learning these intimate details in
the context of a creepy love song was, dare I say, arousing,
especially to a confused 20-year-old in his first year of
university. The song made Scarlett seem like an ethereal being,
unlike anyone else on the planet. But somehow I understood
her. I was obsessed. From there on, I endeavoured to see all
of her movies, a task which forced me to sit through works like
In Good Company and The Island. I would buy magazines she
featured in, downloaded episodes of Saturday Night Live she
presented and I still own the two albums she has released. I
even made artwork dedicated to her.
Slowly my fandom subsided, but every once in a while my
heart flutters again, especially when she stars in remarkable
films like Under the Skin or Her. When that does happen I'm
always reminded of that song which made me feel like I had a
close relationship with an otherwise unattainable person.

027
028 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
 BY M A RK A S C H
The first date I ever went on was to The Big Lebowski — I
remember us both rigid in our seats, staring at the screen, as
the topless girl bounced in slow-motion on the trampoline.
This was in eighth grade, when I had a girlfriend for the first
time. Spending time together outside of school, somewhere
our parents could drive us and leave us for a meaningful
interval of time, also meant taking exploratory first steps as
independent consumers of pop culture. (I don’t know why we
saw Lebowski, I must have read about it in ‘Entertainment
Weekly’.) My girlfriend had already seen Titanic, more than
once, but of course it was still in theatres and, of course, we
went and sat in an aisle seat in a middle row, directly in front
of two retirees whose own frozen gaze I could feel holding
my arm in place on the shared armrest as Leo painted
Kate like one of his French girls. I finally managed to make
some moves during City of Angels, right after Nicolas Cage
[spoiler] gives up his immortality to be with Meg Ryan, but
before she [spoiler] gets hit by a truck.
Perhaps the solipsism of hindsight is as potent as the
solipsism of adolescence? Yet as I look back on the 1997-
1998 school year from a distance of 20 years, I see more
clearly than ever an American media landscape steeped in
my and my contemporaries’ hormones. That year, my male
friends’ quotation rotation featured the previous summer’s
hit Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (imagine
a classroom full of boys bleating, “Do I make you horny?”
with an insistence verging on despair), and Tim Meadows as
the recurring Saturday Night Live character The Ladies Man,
who, come fall, would re-enact key passages of the Starr
Report with a braless Cameron Diaz as Monica Lewinsky.
The last day of eighth grade was a half day, and that
afternoon my girlfriend and I went to the movies with
her best friend at the time, who I’ll call Rose, and Rose’s
boyfriend, who I’ll call Jack. This was at a strip-mall multiplex
where, it was rumoured, a classmate of ours had put his
jacket over his lap and jerked off during Jennifer Lopez’s
wet t-shirt scenes in Anaconda. We sat boy-girl-girl-boy, in
the otherwise empty theatre, and started making out during
a go-nowhere dialogue scene sometime after the first or
second reel changeover.
At some point thereafter, my girlfriend pulled away,
looked to her left, and may have gasped. There was heavy
breathing coming from the other couple, and a frictiony
sound. On screen, an explosion. There was urgent whispering
between the two girls, and then my girlfriend mumbled
something in my ear about washing up as she and Rose
scooched over my knees to the bathroom, followed by Jack,
who leaned in close, holding his hands out in front of his
body, fingers splayed, and in a voice hushed and triumphant
said: “I almost popped Rose’s cherry.” I had the theatre to
myself for two or three minutes. Today it’s a Wal-Mart.
After the last day of eighth grade, the next time I would
tongue-kiss a girl in a movie theatre would be five years later,
my freshman year of college. It was at a weeknight screening
of The Quiet American, an engrossing study of US foreign-
policy arrogance fortuitously released as our military began
a war in which friends from my teenage years would serve.
I could not have known any of that at the time. For the
moment, I sat alone in the dark, a week before my fourteenth
birthday, and I watched Roland Emmerich’s Godzilla.
029
 BY C HRI S T IN A NE W L A ND
A lot of people don’t get it. They say you stopped being a
sex symbol before I was born, though clearly they haven’t
seen Indecent Proposal. One of my friends even told me
that you were too cookie-cutter and boring to be sexy. She
said, ‘Robert Redford is like a drawing of the best-looking guy
you can imagine.’ As if that was a bad thing. That patrician,
apple pie look is precisely the appeal. You were even born
with a screen name, snow-white and unchangeable: Charles
Robert Redford.
Like so many male pin-ups, my personal love for you was
forged in the fires of my formative years. In high school, I was
a dark-haired teenager with a clunky ethnic last name, and
your cold blond WASP vibe – a la Downhill Racer - was the
perfect type to place on a pedestal. You’re nearly as athletic
and aloof in The Way We Were – a noncommittal Hubbell to
my overly passionate, bookish Katie.
I know I’ve been Katie, and maybe we’ve all felt like her
in one way or another. Too much and not enough all at once.
It’s part of being born in a woman’s body, really. I feel her
pain when she flatly says to you: ‘I’m not pretty enough for
you. I mean, I’m all right. But not pretty in the right way.’
That kind of self-flagellation has always come hand in hand
with romance for me. Can I even have a crush on someone
if I don’t think they’re wildly out of my league? If their very
existence doesn’t reinforce my own as somehow lesser?
030 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
You’re unattainable in every way. You’re a movie star. You
were born during the Great Depression. You’re 80 goddamn
years old. And that’s all part of the wonderful ridiculous
package. If loving movies means grasping at flickering fantasy
– at impossible digital files that suspend actors in time at their
youngest and loveliest – then you’re an immaculate example.
Bob, you personify the shiny impossibility of Hollywood.
You’re the perfect movie star pinup exactly because you’re
removed and distant. You’re too much the golden boy to be
real. In the same manner as a woman like Angelina Jolie, your
looks are not entirely of this earthly domain. Some stars are
too physically distracting to disappear into a film completely;
the film needs to disguise that radiance, or else stitch it into
the fabric of the narrative, at risk of otherwise ringing false.
Does Robert Redford go to the supermarket? Probably, but I
can’t imagine him there.
Girls still aren’t allowed to crave and ogle in the same
way boys are. In high school, especially, we’re hamstrung by
social judgements, by whispers. A boy’s hunger is a fact of
his life, and of girls’ lives too. We spend so much of our time
being taught to dodge and deny male hunger. How do we ever
find the space for our own? Surrounded by corn-fed dairy
farmers in a tiny upstate high school, intense little women
with intense feelings were weirdos and sluts. Robert Redford,
you’re the best antidote. The impossible jock who can’t ever
be guilty of rejection, because you’re up there on the screen,
and I’m down here with the regular folk.
 BY J A ME S L U X F O RD
For many years my bisexuality was my own personal Voldemort.
I daren’t speak its name, for fear of what acknowledgment
might mean. Then, some time in my twenties in a cinema in
Coventry, a first love of sorts literally flew into my life and
cleared up any ambiguity.
The film was Superman Returns, Bryan Singer’s unjustly
maligned continuation of the Richard Donner films, which
were a big influence on me growing up. I have always adored
the character and the story of an outsider driven to protect an
imperfect planet (often from itself), for no reason other than
it was the right thing to do. Singer’s film combined nostalgia
with an interesting arc about what happens when those
intentions are spurned - “The Loneliness of Good” to quote
Frank Langella’s Skeletor. In short, I loved it. I still do.
Then there was the part of the film that I wasn’t expecting:
lead actor Brandon Routh. Rather than the iconic but
somewhat asexual Christopher Reeve, here was all those
qualities I admired portrayed by a new actor who was young
and, well, kind of hot. Suddenly every line delivery or shy smile
grabbed my attention that little bit more, and the film’s finale
had me unusually invested. Whereas past same-sex attractions
were always dismissed as admiration or “a phase”, there was
no denying this was a full blown crush. It was revelation that
made things both clearer and much more scary. It would be a
few more years until I said the words out loud, but my road to
being comfortable with being bisexual started in Metropolis.
BY J A ME S S L AY M A K E R
Bud, the pre-pubescent protagonist of Terence Davies’ 1990
film The Long Day Closes, subjectively filters his life through
the prism of Hollywood cinema. The mundane sensations of
post-war working class routine: light shifting across a rug after
sundown; raindrops falling on a cement wall; resting your back
against a windowpane; watching a kettle boil. All these things
are granted a newfound sense of grandeur when paired with
classical musical cues and sections of Orson Welles’s narration
from The Magnificent Ambersons. Davies’ second feature is an
exploration into the origins of his own cinephilia. Its aesthetic is
informed by the ways in which films live in our memory – after
we’ve forgotten the specifics of plot, character and incident,
certain textures, moods and images remain.
As an early adolescent dipping my toe into cinema culture,
The Long Day Closes spoke volumes to me, perhaps because
it explored the significance of popular art to social outsiders
without framing cinema as a mere source of escapism. Davies
instead frames the commercial cinema as being central in
shaping Bud’s identity. In one outstanding sequence, a series
of serene overhead pans unite a classroom, a Catholic church
and a movie theatre. They tie together the three cornerstones
of Bud’s adolescent experience. There is no shortage of films
that explore an introverted youth’s love for the cinema, but few
are so deeply rooted in a sense of poignancy and exaltation; the
joy of the present moment is coloured by an awareness of the
weight of time passing.
031
 BY A ND RE W M A L E
I was seven years old when I first heard it. A melancholy
whisper, smooth and rough at the same time, like fur brushed
both ways. The owner of this strong yet comforting voice
was Oliver Reed, and the film was Hannibal Brooks, Michael
Winner’s warm-hearted 1968 war drama about a British POW,
Stephen ‘Hannibal’ Brooks, who tries to escape to the Swiss
border with a zoo elephant called Lucy.
It’s maybe no one’s idea of a great movie but, watched again,
over 40 years later, it retains a peculiar power. As accentuated
by Francis Lai’s sweeping score, the film is essentially a romance
between man and elephant and both Reed and Lucy (Aida The
Elephant from Klant’s Zoo, Valkenburg, Holland) play their parts
exceptionally well. For much of the film, the two are alone
BY M AT T T URNE R
Hayao Miyazaki’s Ponyo is an unconventional love story about
a small boy and his goldfish. Sōsuke, a five year old human
boy, finds, rescues and immediately adores Ponyo, a girl-
goldfish hybrid with mystical powers. Instantly and somewhat
inexplicably captivated by his interest, she vows - against the
wishes of her family and the laws of the universe - to turn
human, beginning a tumultuous, elemental struggle.
Within a relationship with few obvious commonalities, this
film became a shared obsession. She loved the ocean and all of
the impossibly weird creatures within it. I loved cinema and not
much else. Excited at a rare opportunity to share in that, I told
her Ponyo was an adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The
Little Mermaid’ from the creator of My Neighbour Totoro, and
BY A B B E Y B E ND E R
What would the French New Wave be without first love? The
charming stars, fluttering rhythms and stolen glances of the
movement have in turn spawned many a cinephile. The New
Wave director most preoccupied with first love is François
Truffaut. His explorations of love included the romantic trials
and tribulations of his cinematic avatar, Antoine Doinel, the
love triangles of Jules et Jim (1962) and Two English Girls
(1971), and his exploration of his own first love (movies, mais
bien sûr), in Day for Night (1973). With Small Change, his
breezy 1976 portrait of childhood, Truffaut explored innocent,
pre-sexual love to a most poignant effect. In a decade filled
with enduring portraits of precocious children, from Tatum
O’Neal in 1973’s Paper Moon to Diane Lane in 1979’s A Little
032 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
together, and the job of Reed’s character is to soothe the
distressed elephant. These are the scenes I remember most,
Reed telling a wounded Lucy that, “it’s all right now, baby. It’s all
over,” and, at one pivotal point of triumph, “Well, it’s you and I
now, Lucy. Let’s head for the sun.”
Who knows how our heads work when we’re children? I
don't think I wanted Oliver Reed to protect me, and I didn't want
to escape to freedom with him across the Swiss Alps, but I liked
him in a way that I’d never liked a movie star before. I liked that
his cropped hair, facial scar and boat-neck sweater made him
look like Action Man, and I liked that amid all the war movie’s
usual noise, death, chaos and betrayal here, it seemed, was a
good man, with a soothing voice, who would be able to tell you
that “it’s all right now, baby. It’s all over”, and you’d believe him,
even as the war raged all around you.
she was all in. We built pillow forts and watched it repeatedly,
diving back into it whenever we needed colourful escape. We
bought toys from it, painted the characters from it and even
renamed those squidgy orange washing tablets after it.
The film contains a fantasy: that two creatures of obvious
and insurmountable difference can stay together despite every
barrier imaginable. The dissolution of our relationship came
not from our differences but from my refusal to accept them,
unconsciously encouraging her to reshape herself into an image
that matched my world. In Ponyo, change in the name of love
is transcendent. In Andersen’s story, the same transformation
comes at a terrible price. Every step that the mermaid takes on
land feels as if she is walking on knives. The potency of Ponyo is in
its hopefulness, the belief that the power of that core attraction
overcomes everything else. I love it. I haven’t watched it since.
Romance, Small Change stands out for its generous sprawl
of youth, as well as its potent Frenchness – at one point an
adorable toddler literally carries around a baguette. While
not a film all about first love per se, Small Change, with its
soft and sunny ’70s palette and episodic structure, captures
the feel of a childhood crush. Truffaut shows innocent dates
and first kisses without forcing his young protagonists into a
saccharine narrative. The film, largely improvised and featuring
a host of non-professional child actors, is like a scrapbook of
memories. One of its most enduring images is that of a boy and
a girl affectionately gazing at each other as they lean out of a
train window. Even if we haven’t felt this hopeful pang, we can
appreciate its diaphanous loveliness. Truffaut gives time and
space to fleeting childhood connections, and this sensitivity is
enduringly easy to love.
 BY E L L A D O N A L D
It’s a day like any other, except it is not. You are in a cinema
you have sat in countless times before, except today it feels
different. It starts with a look across a crowded room. The
shared glance only lasts a moment. There is barely a pause, let
alone swelling violins to tell you what you need to be feeling, but
something shifts inside you. You feel exhilarated and moved,
but also entirely exposed. In a single moment, it’s as though
the film is staring into your soul, revealing something private
and unknown that you thought was destined to remain solitary.
The two people on screen, trapped in unfulfilled lives in 1950s
New York, have little in common with you. But despite that, in
that single glance across a crowded room on just another day,
you feel as though you finally understand something ephemeral
and missing until now.
It’s confirmed as the film progresses, and you only become
more absorbed. More glances are stolen and cautious touches
wistfully linger in precious private moments in the shadows.
The audience sitting around you may grow restless, reaching
for stealthy glances at their phones or whispering to the
person next to them, but you couldn’t hear or feel less of it.
On screen, they are falling in love with each other, gradually
and to mutual disbelief. It’s a miracle they find each other.
But what is commonly said to be just love is passion, those
moments of unfettered desire that spill over when they can
no longer be held back. However, it’s in that simple glance,
replayed over and over again since sitting in that familiar
cinema on a not-so-typical day, that true love is captured. It’s
finding someone who is able to see through the layers for the
first time, that makes you think the most simple but foreign
thing – oh, that’s me.
033
 he time honoured coming of age movie is engineered
so the viewer can project personal experience on
to the young characters as they pummel their way
into maturity. The parents serve as a counterpoint, sometimes
chiding their offspring for recklessness, or maybe even just
lurking in the shadows, dealing with their own tantrums and
tiaras, allowing the kids to get on with it. In Maurice Pialat’s
1983 masterpiece, A Nos Amours, the family is a cauldron of
high-concentrate froideur. The film pinpoints the instant where
a child suddenly realises the lustrous bounty that lays ahead,
just as her malcontent father discovers that he’s coming close
to life’s final terminus. Emerging from the fantasy of childhood
is seen in the opening moments, where Sandrine Bonnaire’s
16-year-old coquette Suzanne takes time out from rehearsing a
play at a teen summer camp to “perform” for a gallery of male
on-lookers. She stands tall at the prow of the boat like a charm
statue that’s keeping the schooner afloat. One of those warm
for her form is older brother Robert.
Later, she wanders off to a motorway siding to canoodle
with her dorky boyfriend, but decides he’s not the one to take
her virginity – that’s a prize she’ll pass to some rando nutter in
a fun pub. Back in Paris, Suzanne stealthily operates around her
highly-strung family. She doesn’t crave sex like it’s an addiction,
but is determined to make it a regular aspect of her social life.
She thinks that her parents don’t see it, but they do. They see
it because they’ve been there themselves, they’ve experienced
those clinches, they’ve told those lies, they know the entire
playbook of disappointment by heart. Maybe they’re also
jealous that she’s able to make these snap decisions and she’s
a master of her own destiny. As parents, as professionals, they
are trapped in limbo.
There’s a spiritual aspect to Bonnaire’s performance as she
seems to exemplify some corrupted notion of free will. That
freedom results in idle pleasure or beautiful stolen moments,
like an intimate late night powwow with her father, brilliantly
played by Pialat himself. He reveals that he’s
planning to walk out on the family, but
034 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
this bombshell barely registers with Suzanne because this is
the type of brutal spontaneity that has become her creed. She
carries on chomping a disc of baloney. Yet this is also a film about
how free will can negatively impact others. Her mother, played
as a nagging wraith by Evelyne Ker, is in the midst of a protracted
breakdown, and she blames Suzanne for all her problems. The
calming bliss of lounging naked, chugging cigarettes and applying
make-up is cracked when life at home takes a turn for the bleak.
A Nos Amour is that rare teen movie that doesn’t shy away
from violence, both literal and psychological, and some of
the tussles in the film err close to being unwatchable. Pialat’s
commitment to untrammelled, quasi-Mondo realism means that
when Suzanne comes home to a smack round the face, she really
does get a smack round the face. These scene become more
of a regular occurrence as the film surges on, are chilling and
blunt, but they also emphasise Suzanne’s pluck, as she is more
than willing to fight back. It’s inferred that her effete brother
Robert (Dominique Besnehard) hits and demeans her because
he, alongside a string of male paramours, is in love with her.
What’s so great about this film is that it isn’t about anything
obvious. There is no cosy arc. Time passes, wounds are healed
and then reopened, Suzanne gets engaged but regrets it, her
father returns during a festive dinner and appears to confirm
that the family unit is soon to disband. It’s a story about time’s
meandering, unpredictable, always-tragic passage, but it’s also
about a specific moment where a child becomes an adult and
a parent is saddled once more with an independence of which
they’ve long become bored. Overwhelming sadness becomes
the product of accrued detail, as Suzanne and her father share
the charred remnants of his corrupted wisdom on a bus to
the airport. This doesn’t adhere to any traditional conventions
of what a movie should be, and yet it does more than make
banal generalities about how life can be lived. There’s no lesson
from this film, and yet in its glorious, infuriating entirety says we
should be happy that love is a concept that defies definition
The Maurice Pialat season runs on MUBI from 4 Sept to 4 Oct
036 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
037
 fter sex, eating is the most intimate thing
you can do. It is, after all, the admission of
another object into your body, the pursuit of
pleasure and survival. It carries with it the risk
(or reward) of that process,changing you forever.
Gastronomy, cutlery, and table manners have
all been developed to distance us from the messy realities of
food, but eating fruit offers a uniquely intimate experience.
Fruit demands that we get down and dirty with our mouths and
hands. We pluck it straight from the tree, eat it in the open air
and relish the juice dribbling down our chins. We pull oranges
and bunches of grapes apart with our fingers, rip off bits of
peel with our hands, stripping fruit before we put it into our
mouths, or bite straight into the skin. We gnaw at stones, pick
out stems and chew around pips. As well as sight, smell and
taste, fruit demands more than any other food that we engage
our sense of touch. Even if most of our fruits now appear in
orderly rows, wrapped in supermarket polythene, we still eat
fruit like randy cavemen.
Yet the connection of fruit to sensuality is about more
than being at one with nature. From Eve and the apple to Kim
Kardashian’s prodigious use of the peach emoji and Katy Perry
talking about the taste of a girl’s cherry chapstick, fruit has been
linked to sex for millennia. Fruit is, in fact, the bulging ovaries
of pollinated flowers, and so steeped in symbolism that even
the shortest trip to the greengrocer means confronting years
of erotic culture.
To start with its practical value, fruit has been used as an
aphrodisiac for centuries. Grapes and pomegranates were used
to fuel Bacchic orgies in Ancient Rome, figs were distributed
at traditional Chinese weddings and apples were used in
English love spells during the Middle Ages. The aphrodisiac
power of fruit might be tied up in years of superstition, but its
effects aren’t just mythic. Researchers recommend zinc-filled
038 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
strawberries and raspberries to improve sexual function, claim
pomegranates are good for gynaecological health, and a recent
study published in Archives of Gynecology and Obstetrics
showed that regular apple consumption might enhance the
female orgasm.
Although chemistry plays a role, fruit’s greatest aphrodisiac
power is visual. Bananas are so phallic it’s no wonder they’re
used in sex ed. to show teenagers how to put on condoms.
Split figs and halved grapefruits offer variations on the vulva,
whether dark and velvety or pink, puffy and wet. Pomegranates
full of seeds and blood-red juice are a vision of the female
reproductive system. Peaches and apricots are pert, velvety
buttocks. Plums are testicular in shape, size and weight. Pears
recall the curves of a woman’s waist and hips. And melons,
apples, and tiny, nipple-like strawberries are a catalogue of
breasts in all their diverse glory.
These visual associations between fruit and the human body
have shaped sexual metaphor on a global scale. Depending on
the culture and climate for its specifics, erotic language has
always turned to the fruit tree for inspiration. Havelock Ellis,
the founding father of sexology, described how the Romans
saw sex as horticulture: penises were ‘trees’, testicles were
‘apples’, and vaginas were ‘ploughed fields’ edged with pubic
‘foliage’. In the Anglophone world, our go-to fruit for all things
virginal is the cherry, since the medlar (a fruit that is only edible
when it’s overripe and mulchy) has fallen out of fashion since
its sixteenth-century heyday. In contemporary Spain, they use
figs to describe female genitalia, while Mexico opts for the
guava, and Cuba prefers papayas. Italians refer to the penis as a
banana, whereas in Poland it’s imagined as a pear. Something to
note before flexing your linguistic muscles on holiday.
 he erotic power of fruit emerges not only in
risqué slang, but also in the myths on which whole
cultures have been built. Eve eating the fruit of the
Tree of Knowledge (most often represented by the
apple, whose name in Latin, ‘malum’ also translates
as ‘evil’) is the source of original sin that gets her and
Adam cast out of the Garden of Eden. After eating,
they are so ashamed of their naked bodies that
they sew clothes out of fig leaves. In the classical
world, the pomegranate was linked to Aphrodite, the goddess
of love. It symbolised fertility thanks to its countless seeds, and
supposedly first grew from blood spilled when Dionysus (the
god of wine), castrated an androgynous deity called Agdistis
because he was jealous of his beauty.
Fruit’s classical and biblical significance, as well as its sexual
overtones and visual allure, have made it ripe for years of artistic
attention. Galleries across the globe are littered with hundreds
of naked Eves holding apples, offering up fruit and their bodies
for the viewer’s consumption. Attractive maidservants and boys
carrying baskets piled high with peaches, or with fruit spilling
out onto the floor, are eroticised as similarly edible goods, their
wares displayed as a metaphor for their young, nubile bodies.
Fruit, along with the female nude, is one of the pillars on which
centuries of Western art has been built, usually designed by and
for male audiences.
Fruit is also a grimly appropriate metaphor for
heteronormative fantasies of womanhood. It’s soft, yielding,
and visibly fertile. It’s linked to childhood pleasures, and
unthreatening natural beauty. Like the sugary pet names
often reserved for women, fruity images code them as
sweet, harmless, and consumable. Little wonder that fruit is a
commonplace in women’s fashion. We’re constantly garnished
with cherries, watermelon and pineapple, ready to be served
up all summer as a poolside desert. More gruesome still is
the language of ripeness and rotting associated with female
sexuality. Fruit needs to be eaten when it’s ripe or it will spoil
– cue descriptions of women as ‘past their best’, or ‘dried up’.
But this act of consumption, marked by the popping of the
cherry or the splitting of the fig, either makes fruit decay a lot
faster, or guarantees its destruction when it’s consumed. The
image of woman as fruit is pretty damn misogynistic.
When men are represented as sexualised fruit, male
pleasure is usually more important. Where we lack mainstream
depictions of men going to town on labial guavas, we’re not
short of women sucking on glossy, erect strawberries, deep-
throating bananas, or showing off their lingual dexterity by
tying cherry stems with their tongue. While some man-eating
might seem dangerous (think Nicki Minaj slicing up a banana in
the Anaconda video), phallic fruit is more often about obvious
blowjob references and pandering to the male gaze.
Female sexuality isn’t absent from the realm of fruit art,
however. Frustrated with the lack of art depicting the female
erotic gaze, in 1972, art historian Linda Nochlin parodied a
nineteenth-century French erotic photo of a naked woman
holding a tray of apples in front of her breasts, recreating it with
a male model holding a tray of bananas under his genitals and
in 2016, visual artist Stephanie Sarley went viral with her NSFW
Instagram videos of fruit fingering, gently running her fingers
between the segments of halved oranges, lemons and melons,
before plunging her fingers into their centres to release weirdly
exciting and ejaculatory sprays of juice.
039
040 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
 s well as having its fair share of
misogynistic overtones, sexualised
fruit has a pretty racist and xenophobic
history. Linked to ideas of hot climates
and uncivilised, voluptuous natives,
fruit has consistently been used
by white people to eroticise and
dehumanise non-white communities.
Van Gogh’s good friend Paul Gauguin
painted numerous Tahitian women,
often depicting them topless, and
holding or eating fruit to convey
his ideal of an erotic, exotic paradise. African Americans
were (and, shamefully, still are) depicted as gluttonous
watermelon-eaters. After growing and selling watermelons
became a way for people of colour to earn an independent
living after their emancipation from slavery, a resentful white
population turned the fruit into a racially-charged symbol of
black people’s supposed animalistic appetites, childishness
and uncontrollable desires.
But these unpleasant fruit associations could be used and
sometimes subverted. Josephine Baker, a woman of colour,
cabaret sensation and eventual World War II resistance
agent, found superstardom by capitalising on the racist
fantasies found in 1920s Paris, and drew enormous crowds
by dancing topless at the Folies Bergère in a skirt made of
bananas. Carmen Miranda, the Portuguese singer and actress,
similarly became a Hollywood musical star in the 1940s by
playing up to pan-Latin cultural stereotypes. She was the
‘Lady in the Tutti Frutti Hat’, decked out with bananas on her
turban, and bringing the American populace samba, a bare
midriff, and a first exposure to Brazilian culture through her
fruity performances.
Tied to cross-cultural ideas of femininity, exoticism
and sexuality, it’s little wonder that fruit has also played a
significant role in centuries of LGBT art and culture. Playing
on their resemblance to perky buttocks and links to the
supposedly hedonistic ‘orient’ they came from, peaches
were an important homoerotic symbol in Italian Renaissance
art and poetry. Poet Francesco Berni’s 1522 ‘Encomium to
Peaches’ celebrates the joys of sodomy under a thin veil
of fruity imagery. Caravaggio’s 1592 ‘Boy With A Basket of
Fruit’, with his shirt worn off the shoulder and his luminous
peaches, is clearly designed to titillate the viewer. Bananas
also feature time and again in queer culture. American
photographer Robert Mapplethorpe’s first published picture
was a black and white image of the phallic yellow fruit
slipped through a leather keyring, and Russell T Davies’
2015 series Banana, named after one of the four categories
of the male erection as defined by a group of Swiss scientists,
explored the lives of a young, diverse group of LGBT people
in contemporary Britain.
Fruit is also a motif of seminal lesbian literature. Rita Mae
Brown’s 1973 novel ‘Rubyfruit Jungle’ – the title a euphemism
for female genitalia – was a revolutionary and bestselling
coming of age novel when lesbian heroines were almost
invisible. Jeanette Winterson’s Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit
(1985) depicts a young girl who discovers her sexuality while
living in a repressive Christian community.
Fruit hasn’t always been celebratory where LGBT culture
is concerned. The word ‘fruit’ was itself a homophobic slur
for much of the twentieth century, with ‘gay cure’ centres
known as ‘fruitcake factories’ in the USA, and the Canadian
Civil Service developing a contraption known as the ‘Fruit
Machine’ to detect gay people within their workforce from
the ’50s to the ’70s. The term has since been reappropriated
and used from everyday gay slang to the names of club nights
to cultural organisations. The Fresh Fruit Festival is New York’s
annual celebration of LGBT art and culture, and the music
organisation Fruitvox works globally to promote LGBT choirs.
Fruit, in its multiple forms, remains a powerful emblem for
the gay community.
Fruit is awash with cultural, spiritual, and artistic
significance. It is one of the most powerful erotic symbols
we have. It lets us see sensuality and sexuality in new ways,
helps us think about our bodies, and offers us a powerful
set of metaphors to play with. Still, we should play with
them carefully. The titillating iconography of fruit has often
come at a high cost: the objectification and degradation
of other human beings. It's up to today's artists and
audiences to keep fruit sexy, while making the most of its
inclusive and transgressive potential at the same time
Catherine Ellis is Deputy Editor of The Erotic Review and is
completing a PhD on food and sex work in 18th century France
at Durham University.
041
042 T h e C a l l M e b y Yo u r N a m e Iss u e
 A column about clothes and movies by Christina Newland
Threads Illustration by Laurène Boglio
#3: Swimming Trunks
F
rom the days of its inception, cinema has never been lacking
in beach babes, surfer chicks and ‘bathing beauties’. Even
before the mid-century invention of the bikini, long-stemmed
movie stars posed in their swimwear for a fawning (male) audience.
Perhaps that’s why it’s worth taking notice when men wear their
tiniest swimming trunks in the movies. That type of performative
masculinity, with the carefully-displayed male body to go with it, is
rare enough to cherish.   speedo in the very same year. In 2006, a mini-sexual revolution
Maybe it was Johnny Weissmuller – the Olympic swimmer and
original Tarzan – who helped begin a vogue for the fit, musclebound
man. He wore a loincloth more often than a speedo, but the result
was very much the same. You could find tight-fitting short shorts
on Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity and The Swimmer, or
all-American gay icon Tab Hunter in homoerotic beach movie Ride
the Wild Surf (1964). Blue waters, languid seaside heat, and a general
state of undress all contribute to a sexy mood, but ultimately, it’s
Hunter’s decision to put himself out there and wear body-hugging
swimwear that defines him as aware of his sexual powers, or maybe
even preening for an admiring crowd.
A new generation of hunky male pin-ups arrived in the ’70s
and ’80s, and often they were more self-assured in stripping down
to their smallest beachwear. Richard Gere led the way with his
fashion-conscious persona and lush pout – American Gigolo (1980)
objectified him from the opening sequences, where he works out
at home in nothing but a very small pair of white shorts. The film
positions Gere as actively open to the female and gay audience’s
gaze, and his stardom would continue in that vein, as an object of
desire, for some time. Even the more traditionally masculine types
– like martial arts hero Jean-Claude Van Damme – were happy to
show off their rippling physiques.
Around the same period, the speedo (now a practically
verboten item of exhibitionism) became increasingly trendy. The
item first became popular in the early ’70s, worn by Olympic
swimmers like gold-medallist Mark Spitz. A famous poster from
1972 sees him wearing his medals and a miniscule stars-and-stripes
adorned speedo. As the fitness craze of the ’80s saw ‘manly men’
like Sly Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger popularise the
speedo, ordinary folk felt they could get in on the trend too.
In Commando (1985), Arnie strips out of his clothes and into a
tiny black speedo, revealing an eye-popping display of bulging
muscles. He certainly brings swaggering heterosexuality to the
fore, given that he immediately gears up in camo and war paint
before wiping out a phalanx of enemy soldiers. Eventually, the
item fell into parody, reaching its nadir with Borat (2006), whose
infamous lime green mankini made a mockery of the careful
grooming of male bodybuilders.
Interestingly enough, cinema provided a modern answer to the
happened onscreen in one of the most obnoxiously hetero film
franchises of all time: James Bond. In Casino Royale, Daniel
Craig saunters out of the sea in a small pair of blue swimming
trunks, forever turning the tables of the gaze, and welcoming the
misogynistic Bond into a new century – where women and gay
men could unabashedly do all the ogling. Craig also started a new
vogue for these compact (but not overly revealing) swimming
trunks, and the style was subsequently made popular by brands
like Diesel and Calvin Klein.
These days, men in their junk-hugging swimming trunks are
probably more plucked, oiled, and tanned than was ever seen
as acceptable in the mainstream of the past. Whereas stars like
Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds once flaunted their chest hair, the
au courant style is trimmed or even waxed. Take Zac Efron, the
unrealistically buff ex-child actor whose roles in raunchy comedies
(Dirty Grandpa, Baywatch) have seen him regularly strip down
to practically nothing. In the former maligned film, Efron sports
a fetching speedo with a stuffed hornet on the front. His shape
and grooming style were once the refuge of a niche subculture –
body-building. Now, it’s a popular aesthetic, and as social progress
increases, male vanity has had the stigma of ‘feminine’ or ‘gay’
behaviour removed from it.
Tanning, body-hair grooming and other stereotypically feminine
habits tend to come hand in hand with wearing sexy swimwear.
There’s something explicitly subversive about the images conjured
not only their association with gay desire and pin-up culture, but
also simply in their redirection of the camera’s gaze. Whether it’s
Channing Tatum donning a neon speedo in Magic Mike or the
characters of French erotic drama Stranger by the Lake (2013) in
sleek, body-skimming black trunks, we’re not only talking about
fine physical specimens. We’re talking about objectifying the male
body in ways that can occasionally feel revolutionary
043
 ummer lovin’, happened so fast: in Jean Renoir’s
A Day in the Country, a family’s pastoral outing
becomes, for the young daughter, a spiritual
and sensual awakening. And then, in a flash, a bittersweet
memory of paradise lost. Like the indolent sunny afternoon
and illicit summer fling the film depicts, the shoot was
interrupted by rain, and remains frozen in time, forever
unfinished. Renoir was unable to complete the planned
short feature in 1936, and the extant 40 minute-cut was
not exhibited until after World War Two, by which point the
filmmaker was working in Hollywood. Lesser known than
Renoir’s high-canonical prewar films La Grand Illusion and
The Rules of the Game, class-conscious sketches which
double as elegies for worlds on the brink of extinction, A
Day in the Country shows off the same masterful range, as
wry, open-hearted observational comedy shades almost
imperceptibly into transcendence, and then tragedy.
Monsieur Defour, a shopkeeper on the Rue des Martyrs,
has rented a milk cart to lead his family beyond the walls
of Paris, to a country inn along the winding Seine. It is a
Sunday in 1860, a poignant and finely poised moment in
history. The changing landscape has ruined the day’s catch
for the country folk lunching at the restaurant: “Since the
factory opened, the fish taste like motor oil.” Yet the
Defours, members of the emergent petit-bourgeois, taste
nothing but novelty as they find themselves with the time
and money to spend on a picnic en plein air.
Renoir stays close to his source, Guy de Maupassant’s
witty story ‘A Country Excursion,’ but accomplishes the
slow fade to pathos with his own sad-clown humanism.
Performances have a music-hall broadness to them:
Defour, his checked trousers swelling around his spherical
belly, pretends to masculine wisdom — “Of course” he
can swim, he blusters, “but I’ve forgotten. I’m too busy
now”. He bellows at his assistant shopkeeper and future
son-in-law Anatole, a simpering ass with lank straw-blond
hair who whines like an infant, helpless and entitled, when
told there are no fishing poles to rent. Giggling Madame
Defour is a beribboned, tight-corseted coquette, who
remarks upon, and misjudges, the manners of the two
rural labourers wolfishly eyeing her and her daughter.
Moody Henri, the less theatrical of the two, and
Henriette, the Defour daughter and Anatole’s intended,
stand out for their lack of affect. As Henriette, Sylvia
Bataille is a classic ingénue (though her offscreen
entanglements were rather more modern: by this time
separated from her first husband, Georges Bataille,
she would soon embark on an tryst with the man who
would become her second, Jacques Lacan), given over
to natural rapture: “An immense tenderness for it all, for
the grass, the water, the trees.” As she lounges on the
grass, Renoir films her close-ups from above; looking up
into the camera, she seems, like a flower, to be turning
towards the light.
When Henri takes Henriette out rowing, the reeds
and willows reflecting vaguely in the sparkling water, the
whole living world feels holy. As she finally allows Henri
to lead her ashore, she cries at the song of a nightingale,
and then cries again as she finally gives in to his advances
and embraces him. Does she cry because this desperate
pawing is all that comes of her reverie, or because she’s
so soon to be called back to work, back to reality?
Clouds darken the sky, wind shakes the trees, rain pelts
the river, and the years rush by in a few lines of onscreen
text before a chance reunion crystalises two lifetimes of
disappointment and what-ifs.
Like other great movies about great passions thwarted
by cosmic cruelty or human weakness — The Umbrellas of
Cherbourg, The Age of Innocence — A Day in the Country
flashes forward at the last to weigh a single moment
of truth against the life whose grain it runs against.
The film preserves Henriette’s memory – of playtime,
romance, youth, grace — as a bubble of mortal possibility,
shimmering, for a moment, in the sun
Thu 30 Nov

Tan Dun:
The Martial
Arts Trilogy
With the London
Symphony Orchestra
Hear the film-composer’s music in
glorious Technicolor, accompanied
by footage from the films.
Featuring the music from:
Hero
Crouching Tiger,
Hidden Dragon
The Banquet

20 & 21 Sep

Jim Jarmusch
Revisited
A multi-artist homage to the music that runs
through the veins of the cult director’s films
Featuring:
Mulatu Astatke
Alex Kapranos (Franz Ferdinand)
Camille O’Sullivan
Kirin J Callinan
Jolie Holland
 T HE C AL L ME BY YO UR NA ME IS S UE

48-50 Interview: Jane Goldman 72 Brimstone

52-53 Logan Lucky 73 Strong Island
54-55 Filles de Belle 74 Una
– In praise of Belle de Jour 75 God’s Own Country
56 The Work 76 Daphne
57 The Meyerowitz Stories 77 Interview: Emily Beecham
(New and Selected) 78 On Body and Soul / Zoology
58 In Between 80 My Journey Through
59 Wind River French Cinema
60 Beach Rats 81 The Limehouse Golem
61 Interview: Eliza Hittman 82 Victoria and Abdul
62 Unrest / The Night is Short, 83 Breathe
Walk on Girl 84-85 Interview: Andy Serkis
64 Dina / Home Again 86 The Lure / The Villainess
66 Perfect Blue 87 Menashe / Félicité
67 Loving Vincent 88 The Road to Mandalay
68-70 Shudders of Pleasure / London Symphony
– The story of Hellraiser 90-93 Home Ents
IN PROFILE
Jane Goldman
One of the world’s foremost fantasy writers discusses her work on
Kingsman: The Golden Circle and The Limehouse Golem.
T
he way she tells it, there are three things to remember about
Britain’s most bankable screenwriter. She loves horror. She has
no problem with violence. But she really doesn’t do sad. Fine
then, for Jane Goldman to conceive of the serious mayhem in the first
Kingsman frolic where lean, mean killing machine (ahem) Colin Firth rips
his way through an entire church full of neo-con maniacs, or a symphony
of heads subsequently explode to the strains of Elgar. Just don’t get her
started on Watership Down. It’s still too traumatic...
And yet, it’s typical of her craft, versatility and work ethic that she has
two new films in the pipeline. First up is historical shocker The Limehouse
Golem, a fact-infused tale of dark doings in the 1880s East End adapted
from a revered tome by literary Londonist Peter Ackroyd. Then, by way
of contrast, there’s Kingsman: The Golden Circle, an expanded US-set
sequel to the alternative-universe espionage thriller she cooked up
with her regular collaborator Matthew Vaughn. That brings her total to
nine produced screenplays in the past decade since her debut, Vaughn’s
madcap fairy tale from 2007, Stardust. It’s a success rate frankly unheard
of in Hollywood, and pretty mind-blowing for a London-based female
screenwriter when you consider her previous record included stints
as a newspaper showbiz columnist, presenting paranormal TV exposé
Jane Goldman Investigates, penning non-fiction how-to titles for teens
including ‘Sussed and Streetsmart’, and raising three kids with her
husband of almost three decades, the broadcaster Jonathan Ross.
Given that many British screenwriters are moonlighting novelists
or playwrights transferring their literary chops to the very different
demands of celluloid, Goldman stands out as someone who’s in her
element writing high-energy modern movie action-comedy. Moreover,
she’s also proved a seriously dab hand at adaptation – whether it’s Peter
Ackroyd, Susan Hill’s classic ghostly tale ‘The Woman in Black’, Mark
Millar’s comic-book fare including Kick-Ass and the Kingsman flicks, or
even fitting in with the franchise requirements of X-Men: First Class.
So what does it take to be a good adaptor for the screen? “The
language of literature is different from the language of cinema, so it’s
not just about getting the literal meaning across, it’s about conveying
the author’s intent,” Goldman says. “Keeping that spirit actually often
Interview by TREVOR JOHNSTON I l l us t rat io n by SARAH TANAT JONES
means changing it. With Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, the
book was missing a third act because the novel was intended as the first step in
an adventure. But studios have a certain expectation of a big action finale for
that sort of movie, so we had to bring that in.”
As it turns out, Goldman’s two most recent adaptations each presented
their own challenges. For The Limehouse Golem, a novel she’s long cherished
and once even considered buying the rights herself, it was “finding a cinematic
key for the essentially literary conceit behind the mystery story, but doing
it without cheating”, whereas for Kingsman: The Golden Circle the storyline
in Mark Millar and Dave Gibbons’ original comic book was used up in the
first movie, The Secret Service. This allowed Goldman and co-writer/director
Matthew Vaughn to go their own way in taking established characters like
Taron Egerton’s council-estate superspy Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin further afield,
expanding the mythology to include an American sister organisation The
Statesmen, whose members include Channing Tatum’s Agent Tequila and
Jeff Bridges’ Agent Champagne.
“To be honest, we never thought of Kingsman as an ongoing James Bond
type franchise, to us it was a ‘Pygmalion’ story, and there’s no sequel to My
Fair Lady,” she explains. “So the follow-up wasn’t about coming up with a
new villain and a new plan for world domination, it was about an emotional
story we wanted to tell, and something which would be unexpected for fans
of the first movie. In some ways, it felt fresh because it was like starting over,
but there were already a lot of ground rules. I’ve worked like that before, on
X-Men, say, where the character traits and interactions had already seen so
many iterations by previous writers. You have to find your way through it.”
Surprises are promised, not least the presence of one Colin Firth in the
trailer, since he appeared to have been terminated in the first film after the
aforementioned orgy of violence that was the church-set massacre. In terms
of carnage, though, was there anywhere else to go? Or is she as desensitised
to bloodletting as the rest of her viewers? “The thing about that sequence is
that it was actually originally much longer. But there always came this point
in the edit where it stopped being fun, and I’d have these crushing existential
thoughts about human suffering and the frailty of life, when the idea was
supposed to be like, ‘Woooo!! Action!!’ I guess it’s all about context, whether
one person exploding is fun, but another person exploding is shocking or scary
F E AT U R E 0 4 9
 “I have no problem with violence,
or people’s heads exploding.
But I just don’t do sad. Some things
I find really, really hard to watch.”
or sad. I guess it’s like the definition of pornography – you know it when you
see it.”
She continues: “I mean I have no problem with violence, or people’s heads
exploding. I love horror. But I just don’t do sad. Some things I find really,
really hard to watch.” This coming from the woman who brought psychotic
pubescent Hit-Girl to the screen in Kick Ass. Any specific examples then?
“Watership Down. Cannot do it. Traumatised me as a child. And even now as
an adult, it makes me sad and angry. It’s brutal, and it’s so fucking sad I can’t
bear it. My children laugh about it now, but for years they didn’t realise that
when I read them bedtime stories I’d change the ending. They only discovered
later that the ending of The Velveteen Rabbit was really sad. Everything was
fine in my version!”
Ironically, such protectiveness is at the other end of the scale from her own
London adolescence in the 1980s, when she and her parents lived conveniently
beside a video library. “My folks weren’t all that strict about certification,” she
recalls. “I think we watched everything in the shop, including Driller Killer…
still remember that cover. And my dad was also keen to show me stuff he really
liked, including Dirty Harry, Dog Day Afternoon and Eraserhead. I can see now
that was a pretty unusual education, but it seemed so normal at the time. It
was only later I realised a lot of the stuff I was watching were not the things
that other parents were taking their teenage daughters to see.”
Not that Goldman ever imagined having a career in the movies, since at
this point her idols were more literary, primarily Daphne Du Maurier. She
enthuses about having had the opportunity to adapt the author’s most famous
dark tale, ‘Rebecca’, for Danish director Nikolaj Arcel (which he’s still due to
shoot once he recovers from a reputedly bruising experience on The Dark
Tower), yet for years Goldman resisted the idea of screenwriting, even though
she’d racked up experience in other fields. “I’m a very anxious person,” she
admits, a little surprisingly. “Clinically anxious. And I have this strong self-
0 5 0 F E AT U R E
protective impulse. So when lots of people I knew had had bad experiences
writing for film, I fought shy of it. It was really down to Neil Gaiman, who
suggested me to Matthew Vaughn for Stardust. Otherwise, I might not have
put myself forward, and we might not be having this conversation. I’ve said
that to Neil as well, and thanked him profusely.”
That being so, she’s certainly been making her own luck ever since, and
though she does reckon that “other screenwriters probably want to punch
me” for being serially produced, she also sounds like a dream collaborator
(“I work hard, I meet deadlines, and I don’t complain about stuff”) albeit
one with somewhat distinctive habits. Her work HQ is a shed at the bottom
of the garden, painted all white inside, with a white desk and a white sofa.
“There is a window, but I can’t see out of it. I’ve also taken to writing lying
down, since the long hours are better for my back, and I have earplugs
in as well. Guess that sounds a bit Altered States, like I’m in a sensory
deprivation tank. But I just can’t write in coffee shops.”
While the same conditions might not work for everyone, she’s
enthusiastically encouraging when it comes to anyone who thinks they
have a cool screenplay idea but worry they lack the technical wherewithal.
“The technical demands are something that can definitely be taught. There
are a lot of good books out there on structure, so have a look at them, and
I’d also strongly suggest trying to reverse engineer some of the movies you
really admire. Watch them again and again, figure out how they work, why
the characters interest you, how the story surprises you. There was a point
when I’d never written a script, but I love the obsessive tinkering aspect of
it, and the way it’s twinned with a childish making-stuff-up aspect. I feel
lucky to be able to do what I’m doing, because I really like it a lot”
Kingsman: The Golden Circle is released on 20 September; The Limehouse
Golem is released on 1 September.
ACADEMY AWARD NOMINEE
®
GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD NOMINEE ®

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE BEST ANIMATED FEATURE

ON DVD
& BLU-RAY™
18 SEPTEMBER
TH

AVAILABLE AT

FREE SUPER SAVER DELIVERY AND UNLIMITED ONE-DAY DELIVERY WITH AMAZON PRIME ARE AVAILABLE ON ELIGIBLE ORDERS.
TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY. SEE AMAZON.CO.UK FOR DETAILS. AMAZON, THE AMAZON LOGO AND AMAZON.CO.UK ARE
REGISTERED TRADEMARKS OF AMAZON EU SARL OR ITS AFFILIATES. © RITA / BSP / GEBEKA / KNM / RTS SSR / FRANCE 3 CINEMA /
RHONE-ALPES CINEMA / HELIUM FILMS 2016. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ARTWORK © 2017 THUNDERBIRD RELEASING, LTD.
 Logan Lucky
Directed by
STEVEN SODERBERGH
Starring
CHANNING TATUM
ADAM DRIVER
DANIEL CRAIG
Released
25 AUGUST
ANTICIPATION.
One of our all-time favourite
directors has come out of retirement.
ENJOYMENT.
An all-American heist caper that
overflows with soul and humanity.
IN RETROSPECT.
The script, the direction and the
performances work in concert like a
souped-up muscle car.
I
t’s hard to know what to think of America any
more. Back in the days of relative normalcy,
there was the north and the south, divided
by ripe caricatures of effete intellectuals on one
side and hyuk-hyuk’ing, hog-riding yahoos on
the other. Now, the battle lines have been at once
blurred and hardened. Beliefs are now forged
around identity (and not vice versa), almost as if
people feel the need to live up to their own crude
stereotypes for fear of allowing the other side an
inch. Trigger fingers are itchy, and the conditions
for cultural civil war are fomenting.
And so, it might seem that at this time of high
052 REVIEW
tensions, a caper film revolving around genteel
southern manners and what might charitably
be termed as the ‘hillbilly’ archetype, would be
about as welcome as a canteen full of watery grits.
But this film, Logan Lucky, is directed by Steven
Soderbergh, and to call it a work of pin-sharp
diplomacy would be both an understatement
and a disservice to its blissfully warmhearted
depiction of both locals and locale. Soderbergh
makes movies with the same grace and subtle
magic that Mary Poppins uses to clean bedrooms,
and it’s a thrill to have him back in the fold after a
hiatus working in television.
This one isn’t an overtly political film, as satire
is a mode that’s beneath this master filmmaker.
But its politics come as a natural byproduct of
the way he and enigmatic debut screenwriter
Rebecca Blunt plant real, unpredictable souls
within familiar bodies. This also isn’t just a case of
a director playing a game of inverting norms and
types to defy expectation. It’s about combining the
visuals, the performances and the way the story
is told to evolve these potential caricatures into
fragile, empathetic people.
Channing Tatum’s divorced, amiable odd-
jobber Jimmy Logan is fired from a job digging
out sink-holes beneath the Charlotte NASCAR
speedway for having a gammy leg, something he
neglected to mention on his application form.
He needs to make some money, and so concocts
an elaborate scheme to stiff the event of its ample
food concession dollars during one of the season’s
showcase contests.
The film appears as a southern re-run of
Soderbergh’s wildly popular Danny Ocean movies,
with casinos and high-spec bank vaults replaced
with more homefried venues (motor homes,
dive bars, mobile clinics, county fairs) and a less
intricate methodology. Indeed, there is a lovely,
almost farcical element to the mechanics of the
plot, that eventually develops from a comic-hued
genre movie to a humanist fairy tale. While the
heist itself is great fun and executed with the elan
and meticulous precision we’d expect from this
director, it’s the small, wrap-up coda at the end
which leaves you walking on air.
The film also brings together an ensemble for
the ages, where your favourite character is always
the one who’s just been on the screen: Adam
Driver, extending an incredible run of top-down
screen reinventions, reveals yet another string to
his bow as he affects a misshapen southern drawl
to play one-armed bartender, Clyde Logan; Daniel
Craig gives heart and common sense to his bleach-
blonde explosives expert, Joe Bang; then there’s
Riley Keough as Mellie Logan, a hair stylist and
out-of-hours petrol head. Katherine Waterston,
Katie Holmes and Seth MacFarlane are all along
for the ride, and each brings something unique to
the pot.
It’s a tremendously funny film, due more to its
sustained deadpan tone than the deployment of
elaborate set pieces or scene-stealing side players.
The film opens on Jimmy Logan explaining to his
young daughter Sadie (Farrah Mackenzie) the
improbable story behind his favourite song, ‘Take
Me Home, Country Roads’ by John Denver. Logan
Lucky is itself a fictionalised folk tale, a yarn for
Sadie to eventually spin to her own children, with
underdog fortune-hunters eventually becoming
an unlikely source of civic inspiration.
And while the film derives from such a lovable
and louche lineage as 1972’s The Hot Rock, 1973’s
The Sting and even Soderbergh’s own exemplary
Out of Sight, from 1998, it also recalls Robert
Altman’s scintillating 1975 fresco charting the
overlap between culture and politics in the
American south, Nashville. With this film too, the
south isn’t just a context or a handy backdrop on
which the machinations play out – it is the movie.
It deals with the myth of trickle-down economics,
the transgression inherent in unflagging pride, the
ambiguity of patriotism, the all-consuming power
of family, the notion of religion as a crooked but
ruggedly workable moral guiding light, and the
role of public relations in law enforcement. But
it also deals with the ways people keep happiness
alive and the hopeful ambiguity of the American
dream. As Joe Bang’s brother Sam exclaims at one
point, “NASCAR is America”. Logan Lucky is about
how American is, in the end, anything you want it
to be. DAVID JENKINS
REVIEW 053
IN PRAISE OF…
Les filles de Belle
Celebrating the 50th birthday of Luis Buñuel’s
salacious classic, Belle de Jour.
W
e are now a half-century removed from Belle de Jour, and what
a half-century it’s been. Beneath a sky of free-flying freak flags,
it’s easy to forget that clapbacks for “kink-shaming” and prêt-
à-porter “marital aids” were once the province of backpages and back
rooms, shameful brands upon the embarrassed subs and doms among us.
In the ensuing decades even capital-C cinema, always a reliable source of
visual stimulation, has embraced the stranger chapters of Kraft-Ebbing’s
‘Psychopathia Sexualis’.
Since its 1967 release, Luis Buñuel’s tender ballad of a bourgeois
housewife’s sexual awakening has become a regular workhorse of the
European art movie stable, alongside much-seen evergreens like Breathless
or Pickpocket. This is not to discount the preceding pictures, Buñuel’s
wry directorial command, nor star Catherine Deneuve’s compelling
performance. Rather it is proof that our collective mores have loosened
and our definition of high art has expanded, and in this space a sexy little
sub genre blooms.
As Séverine, Deneuve projects the image of a perfect lady: the kind of
untouchable, well-heeled woman Buñuel returns to again and again. We
first encounter her in a horse-drawn carriage, doting husband Pierre at her
side (a classically handsome Jean Sorel), as they rattle down a provincial
woodland path. But for Pierre’s murmuring about his bride’s “wifely
duties” (or lack thereof ), you could easily mistake the pair for siblings.
Nothing about their body language indicates romantic inclination – their
ancient courtship ritual, so familiar to fans of period drama, is stifling in its
wholesomeness.
But for Buñuel, sly devil, Belle de Jour marks the beginning of the end.
His lauded later phase of archly satirical provocations harness his enduring
fascination with religious iconography, psychoanalysis, and Dada to belittle
the rich by a thousand cuts. That pastoral scene of conjugal harmony is
only a pretext for the tempest that follows. Snatched from her carriage,
stripped to her underpinnings, Séverine is swiftly restrained and – pardon
my French – macked upon by a pair of footmen. Her husband, hysterical
with ecstasy, barks orders at the servants as they ravage his beautiful wife.
Will Belle de Jour descend into an endless montage of subjugation and
exploitation? Heavens, no! Just as Séverine’s torment reaches a fever pitch,
we are thrust back into her waking life. The disturbing scene was the stuff of
fantasy – hers, to be exact – and right away we understand: it is not textbook
Wo rds by CAROLINE GOLUM I l l us t rat io n by SARAH TANAT JONES
frigidity that plagues Severine, but shame and shyness, those arch enemies
of pleasure.
Flashbacks hint at a possible origin for Séverine’s predilections, but
they don’t linger long. A brief image of her as a schoolgirl receiving a kiss
from a much older man only tells half the story. Is Severine’s hunger
for humiliation the result of sexual trauma? The film doesn’t bother to
speculate because, frankly, it doesn’t need to. All that matters is Séverine’s
decision to seek her nourishment elsewhere. Determined to get to the
bottom of her particular predilection, she hesitantly calls upon the
proprietress of a high-class brothel. Madame Anaïs (played by Geneviève
Page like a velvet hammer) is at once warm and stern, but above all eager to
put her virginal discovery to work. They agree on a schedule – afternoons,
from two to five – that allows Séverine to juggle her newfound second life.
Madame bestows upon Séverine the fitting nom de putain of “Belle de Jour,”
for the day-blooming flower.
A rocky encounter with Belle’s first client affords Deneuve a chance
to do what she does best: toy, cat-like, with her slavish audience. When
Belle, still green, resists her Jean – a corpulent, rosacea-dappled candy
manufacturer – he takes a rougher tack and belts her across the face. The
scene is heavy with the heat of real violence, and difficult to watch, for we
love Séverine, and we fear for her safety. A fantasy is harmless, but how will
her alter-ego withstand the painful sting of a man’s backhand? We know all
too well what happens to nice girls who take a wrong turn. “Her curiosity,”
we think, “was too great,” and expect the worst.
Fortunately, Buñuel is not content to punish Severine, or lazily attribute
her pecadillos to a single, life-changing moment. Instead, he cultivates her
perversions like a hothouse flower. After her baptism-by-wallop, she lifts
her head, unharmed, in a triumphant gesture that becomes the lynchpin
of Belle de Jour’s moral cross-examination. Her golden locks fall away from
her face, revealing a look of rosy euphoria. We bask in the sunshine of her
pleasure, content in the understanding that she is safe and satiated. In
this moment, Belle receives a different sacrament – a fruit from the Tree
of Knowledge, and the realisation that she is naked and human after all.
Honest and beautiful, Belle de Jour is a prism that absorbs every viewers’
leering interpretation and refracts it into a thousand dazzling palettes
The restoration of Belle de Jour is re-released on 8 September.
F E AT U R E 0 5 5
 The Work
I
Directed by f four days behind the walls of New Folsom
JAIRUS MCLEARY Prison piques your voyeuristic interest, then
GETHIN ALDOUS please do keep reading. The Work follows
Released three men from ‘the outside’ as they join an
8 SEPTEMBER intense group therapy experience with convicts,
many of whom are violent offenders. Unlike most
prisploitation titles, though, this vérité gem isn’t
concerned with the daily toil of life on the inside.
Nor does it squeeze for details about the crimes
committed by each prisoner. Rather, this is a
judicious study of the slow, steady and sometimes
painful process of rehabilitation. Can inner healing
really occur in the cuffs of incarceration?
Almost wholly observational, The Work is
intimate, engrossing and immersive – access
is seemingly unfiltered. While director Jairus
ANTICIPATION. McLeary spent several years building relationships
Love a good prison doc, but do we with men in the programme, he and co-director
really need another one? Gethin Aldous are all but invisible in the final
product. Instead, the prisoners conduct therapy
sessions and stand in for traditional interrogators.
They start off by establishing the group norms, then
drive conversations and embrace vulnerability.
ENJOYMENT. Everyone bears the collective emotional toil. And
Holy smokes, this is unlike they’re astonishingly good at it.
any we’ve seen before. Well, why shouldn’t they be? This film
addresses and challenges pervasive stereotypes
about ‘hardened criminals’. The convicts are
articulate, both linguistically and emotionally.
Some attend weekly group sessions and have
IN RETROSPECT. participated in this demanding workshop before.
Not to sound trite, but it’s a damn They shepherd newbies through distressing talk
privilege to watch this movie. of family violence, childhood trauma and racial
056 REVIEWS
discrimination. When a former member of the
Aryan Brotherhood is more relatable than a
teacher’s aid, it’s clear that the work (that is, the
emotional heavy-lifting of therapy) works.
But casting judgement is not the point of the
programme, nor the film. The directors’ minimal
presence creates space for the viewer to move
through this microcosm of masculinity, where
tension is palpable and the consequences of every
small nuance are shocking. Director of photography
Arturo Santamaria (together with the elusive
camera team) harnesses the raw emotion of the
room with compassion and respect, transporting
us to the intimacy of the sharing circle, or into the
thick of a sudden brawl. Two thumping heartbeats
captured by lapel mics, or a primal scream from
the other side of the room, are sudden indicators of
the core issue here: repression. There’s still a lot of
work to be done in that realm.
The notion of ‘safe spaces’ is so often cut
down. The Work proves just how useful such
an environment can be, especially for those
addicted to the poisonous performance of hyper-
masculinity. It shows truly brave men confronting
gender norms that have hitherto served as
interior prisons. This sometimes makes for
uncomfortable or upsetting viewing, but courage
and hope always sit at the forefront of every scene.
Perhaps the nicest thing about The Work is its
subtle reminder that suffering is relative. While
the work is a lifelong trial, this film reminds
us that you always have to start somewhere.
AIMEE KNIGHT
 The Meyerowitz Stories
“M
Directed by aureen, where’s the gourmet
NOAH BAUMBACH hummus?” asks Dustin Hoffman
Starring as bushy-bearded artist/patriarch,
ADAM SANDLER Howard Meyerowitz, as he stares into his fridge with
BEN STILLER a look of concern. The Meyerowitz Stories (New and
DUSTIN HOFFMAN Selected) is Noah Baumbach’s juiciest comedy since
Released 2012’s Greta Gerwig-starring hit,  Frances Ha. It is
13 OCTOBER peppered with witty lines and spiced with physical
antics. Emma Thompson is Howard’s fourth wife,
Maureen, a permanently sozzled New Yorker who, at
one point, rolls her car ever so gently into a tree.
As a fast-paced talkie preoccupied with the
eccentricities passed down through generations and
the damages wrought by family life, the film evokes
Hannah and Her Sisters-era Woody Allen. Deeper
down, there are thematic parallels to Wes Anderson’s
ANTICIPATION. The Royal Tenenbaums, with Dustin Hoffman equalling
Baumbach is talented but his Gene Hackman’s performance as a ramshackle but
‘comedy’ sometimes gives us charismatic father figure who boasts refined skill
slight acid reflux. for pressing his children’s buttons. As Danny (Adam
Sandler) says: “I wish dad had done one big unforgivable
thing that I could be angry about, but instead it’s tiny
things every day: drip, drip, drip.”
‘Danny’ is the first of the film’s five chapters, and
ENJOYMENT. is immediately intriguing by virtue of having Sandler
Oy vey, this is a hoot! adopting his little-seen  sensitive actor mode. Given
the slew of lamentable comedies that have become
synonymous with his name, it is strangely moving to
see him (unforgettable in Paul Thomas Anderson’s
Punch-Drunk Love) tenderly singing duets with his 18-
IN RETROSPECT. year-old daughter, Eliza (Grace Van Patten).
Worth revisiting for the joyous This film’s plot is a daisy-chain of comic vignettes,
haul of wit and farce. crafted to smuggle in back stories and examine the
emotional baggage that hampers these relations. Danny
and owl-spectacled sister, Jean (Elizabeth Marvel), are
the family losers, while their half-brother Matt (Ben
Stiller), a personal-wealth advisor, is pride of the clan.
Matt still has daddy issues, however, as Howard uses
their time together to gripe and grumble rather than to
dispense longed-for affirmation.
Howard’s issues stem from an early-career burst of
recognition for his art, followed by decades of growing
obscurity. Taunting him is the success of a man who was
once an equal. Indeed, one fabulous set piece takes place
at the private launch of this rival artist’s new collection
at MOMA. A celebrity, cameoing as herself, politely
acknowledges Howard’s existence, and he proceeds to
repeat this comically minimal tidbit as an anecdote,
wearing it as a badge of honour throughout the film.
Hoffman is the Atlas, whose acting muscles
shoulder the film’s charming tone. Howard is a crotchety
problem creator, but baked into Hoffman’s physical
identity –  his small size, lopsided grin, and (in this
film) mighty beard – there is soul to his brittle brand of
humanity. Ben Stiller is on top form, delivering a more
earnest and contained performance than the tightly-
wound neurotics he has played in previous Baumbach
collaborations (Greenberg, While We’re Young).
Although this is a male-weighted movie, there
are no dud characters, and a democracy of humour is
the currency. The relentless pace of the dialogue is at
times exhausting, and the tone never really varies,
yet this is forgiven when, hours after viewing, you
find yourself grinning into the ether, remembering
standout hoots from the cornucopia of Meyerowitz
tales. SOPHIE MONKS KAUFMAN
REVIEWS 057
 In Between
A
Directed by sisterhood that forms in fractured
MAYSALOUN HAMOUD circumstances is at the centre of this
Starring poignant debut feature from director
MOUNA HAWA Maysaloun Hamoud. Following Leila (Mouna
SANA JAMMELIEH Hawa) and Salma (Sana Jammelieh), the film
SHADEN KANBOURA offers an engaging celebration of young and
Released carefree Palestinian women living in Tel-Aviv,
22 SEPTEMBER still adhering to lingering traditions that exert
control over them. Should they speak Arabic or
Hebrew? Should they dress conservatively or wear
whatever the hell they want? Do they care for your
opinion in the slightest? The film is an energetic
and resounding middle finger to such pressures
ANTICIPATION. and stereotypes.
Picked up festival awards from Hamoud highlights Tel-Aviv as a space
Israel to Toronto, not to mention a thriving with the rhythm and colour of
fatwa in Palestine. metropolitan life, a hedonistic playground
far removed from the constraints of religious
custom experienced by new arrival Noor (Shaden
Kanboura). An orthodox Muslim, Noor occupies the
room vacated by her cousin in Leila and Salma’s flat,
ENJOYMENT. bringing with her a palpable air of concern mingled
Beautifully shot with a great with curiosity. She is a student of computer science,
soundtrack and three characters engaged to a man she does not love. This creates an
you’ll want to remain friends with. obvious clash with the freewheeling intoxication,
open sexuality and female camaraderie practiced by
her roommates. The apartment becomes a tangible
representation of the “in between”, acting as both
drug-scattered dancefloor for a happy-go-lucky
IN RETROSPECT. clique, and a clean, respectable environment in
More displays of female which Noor can cook for her fiancé.
friendship like this on As Noor peeks into this vibrant side of life, the
screen please. limitations by which she is most clearly affected
058 REVIEWS
become more apparent. This oasis of independence
is under a constant threat, from parents with high
expectations to boyfriends with a creeping duty
towards social conformity which rears an ugly
head from under the surface of their superficial
liberalism. All three women are creative, intelligent
and joyous, yet exhausted from battles they should
not have to fight. The men around them seem
intent on tearing them apart like the food they
crush with their hands at the table, as if they were
ripe grapefruits rather than human beings.
Hamoud’s film is concise yet enthralling. It
invites the viewer into this closed enclave, but
pushes back just as the protagonists start to dance
along the metaphorical “in between”. Leila, Salma
and Noor are beautifully depicted as individuals,
but also as an ad hoc family unit. When trauma
strikes, they form the fiercest collective shield and
demonstrate the deepest strengths of friendship
and protection. Hamoud is bold in her approach
to scenes of violence, making the support shown
among the three women all the more affecting.
The power of the film is clear in its decision to
promote female friendship without the need for
rivalry, disagreement or division. These women
learn from each other and reject those who expect
them to change. The camera rarely leaves their
side, preferring to capture domestic personal
spaces rather than fill matters out with bustling
colour from the wider cityscape. The outside world,
with its regressive attitudes, does not win here, but
the women of In Between, with their cool resilience,
absolutely do. CAITLIN QUINLAN
 Wind River
T
Directed by he third film written by Taylor Sheridan
TAYLOR SHERIDAN consolidates recurring themes, images and
Starring obsessions into a distinctive personal voice.
JEREMY RENNER Yet Wind River, the only one that Sheridan also
ELIZABETH OLSEN directed himself, might be the dullest of the three.
JULIA JONES As with the previous two features, this one follows
Released a duo of cops working in a specific territory with its
8 SEPTEMBER own rules, people and conventions. In Sicario, it was
the Texan border with Mexico; in Hell or High Water,
West Texas. Here, the setting is the Wind River
Indian Reservation.
There is something immediately exciting
about watching a film taking place in a relatively
ANTICIPATION. underrepresented and unfamiliar location. By
Sicario and Hell or High Water law, Indian reservations are isolated from the
were not perfect, but this could be rest of America. They are not managed by state
special with Sheridan directing. government, but rather by the Native American
tribes who live within them. These tribes in
turn answer to a federal government agency,
the US Bureau of Indian Affairs. It is because of
this unusual status that when a young woman
ENJOYMENT. is discovered murdered on the reservation, an
Some powerful moments, FBI agent is sent to investigate, rather than a
but also misguided ones traditional police detective.
that leave a sour aftertaste. It would have been interesting and original to
follow Elizabeth Olsen’s Jane Banner, the young
agent straight out of sunny Los Angeles, as she
navigates this unknown and unforgiving land. But
Sheridan instead opts for a more common and
IN RETROSPECT. uncomfortable formula, pairing the rookie agent with
A terrible shame to use such an a local white man. In fact, Banner’s presence only
interesting setting for such a serves to highlight the expertise of Jeremy Renner’s
conventional story. Cory Lambert, a US Fish and Wildlife Service agent
who serves as guide to the young woman, and thus
practically leads the investigation.
Not content with simply reproducing the sexist
dynamic between Emily Blunt’s idealistic FBI
agent and Josh Brolin’s pragmatic CIA operative
from Sicario, Sheridan also makes Lambert into a
‘white saviour’ figure, summarily stripping both
Banner and the Native American locals of any
real agency in the action. The film attempts to rid
itself of this awkwardness by framing Lambert as
a stoic hero stuck between the white and Native
American worlds. But giving him such a rich
history results in an even stronger imbalance: a
particularly uncomfortable scene has him deliver
a lengthy monologue about grief to the father of
the murder victim, as though a white man could
somehow have more experience with loss than a
Native American person.
Wind River peaks with its pre-credit sequence,
in which it still seems as though Sheridan is
taking into consideration the poetic potential
and dramatic weight of the landscape, its specific
history and inhabitants. Yet as the film progresses,
Sheridan strips away everything that initially
makes it so distinctive, adding artificially dramatic
moments and tension that feel tired and irrelevant
to life on the Reservation. In much the same way
that Sicario feels empty on closer inspection
– having ultimately very little to do with the
situation of drug cartels at the Mexican border –
the Indian Reservation in Wind River is cheaply
used as a shortcut to drama, but never actually
comes alive. ELENA LAZIC
REVIEWS 059
 Beach Rats
I
Directed by t’s a tremendously difficult thing that second-
ELIZA HITTMAN time director Eliza Hittman is doing with her
Starring affecting new film, Beach Rats. From the outset,
HARRIS DICKINSON that “thing” looks like clear-eyed, unsentimental
MADELINE WEINSTEIN observation and careful, character-driven
KATE HODGE storytelling. But she also manages to capture and
Released preserve a mood by presenting a subject who stands
3 NOVEMBER at a crossroads, utterly bewildered as to which
path he should take. Frankie (Harris Dickinson)
is a rudderless bro who thinks he’s free to do
whatever he wants. He’s acutely conscious of the
fact that he’s hit a sweet spot in life that comes at
the latter stages of an awkward sexual awakening.
And this is a time before anything even close to
ANTICIPATION. adult responsibility hovers into view. Beach Rats
Excited to see Hittman’s presents the walls closing in on Frankie, but the
follow-up to her great 2013 film audience only gets to see what those walls look like
It Felt Like Love. at the very last moment. Hittman lures us in with
glistening washboard torsos and designer ennui,
and, without ever resorting to moral judgement,
asks the simple question over and over: hey kid,
what are you doing with your life?
ENJOYMENT. In America, the definition of ‘freedom’ has
The same, but different. become a bone of contention between warring
Subtle, tragic and bracingly political factions. For some it means the ability to do
perceptive filmmaking. whatever you want, whenever you want. For others,
it’s a freedom afforded to the individual who chooses
to live within a system. In Beach Rats, Frankie seems
to be trapped between these two different visions
of freedom, unwilling to let go of the former, and
IN RETROSPECT. hesitant to accept the latter. This non-judgemental
A film that makes you feel for a film presents growing pains as a natural state of
guy with no feelings. being. Even when Frankie is being a selfish dick
060 REVIEW
(which is pretty much his default setting), he seems
constantly wary of the fact. Through detailed body
language, we see his sense of self-hatred evolve, but
it never quite reaches the point where a newfound
impulse of responsibility takes over. He’s a teenager
who refuses to take hold of his life.
The film patiently watches as a Frankie flirts
with girls on the beach during the day and cruises
gay chat rooms after dark. His fluid sexuality is
another marker of his refusal to conform. Even with
the shield of a webcam, he lurks in the shadows,
wanting to see what he’s got coming to him before
revealing the goods he’s offering to someone else.
And yet, the film is too slippery and subtle to be
solely about “me” culture and the perpetual desire
to fulfil pleasures of the flesh. Frankie and his pals
are driven by sex and drugs, and theirs is a search
for the easiest and most direct route to those ends.
Hittman, however, never judges her characters
or scolds them for wanting to numb the boredom
of plutonic relationships and elegantly wasted
street slumming.
The film takes an ambivalent look at the locale
of Brooklyn, at once a playground of youthful
iniquity and a prison full of lost, desperate
souls. Idle amusements are found in smoke ring
competitions at the local vape shop, or at a nautical
themed techno club. The emotional wallop that
comes as the film ends is hefty and surprising.
It’s hard to tell whether Frankie has been wheel-
spinning for 90 minutes, or if he’s finally broken
through to adulthood by reaching that lowest ebb.
DAVID JENKINS
IN CONVERSATION...
Eliza Hittman
The Brooklyn-based
director of Beach
Rats explains how she
made this ballad of
sexual awakening.
I
n 2015 we published a list of 50 of the best
female filmmakers working today, and Eliza
Hittman featured on the strength of her
2013 debut feature, It Felt Like Love. Developing
on and enhancing the air of brooding teen ennui
in that film, she returns with Beach Rats, a
atmospheric character study about a teenager
attempting to untangle the raging sexual
impulses inside.
LWLies: Beach Rats feels like the product of
intense and detailed research on your part. Is
that the case? Hittman: I would say you’re not
wrong. I grew up in Brooklyn, kind of straddling
a more progressive and familiar version of the
city, but also a version of the city that’s trapped
in time. I think of myself as somebody who goes
back and forth between those worlds and I always
have. I went to a very large public high school in
the middle of Brooklyn and most of the people I
knew were from areas that we shot in. I think a
lot of the film explores a cruising world which is a
tribute to those areas. I spent time observing the
nature of that element of the script.
Interview by DAVID JENKINS
Do you mean literally people watching? Yeah
people watching, sitting in areas along the water,
watching cars flow in, people taking short trips to
the darkness.
Were you always at a distance from these
subjects you were looking at? Always
observation. It was odd hours of the night
and I don’t think people would have felt
comfortable talking to me about, you know,
what different areas of the world they were
coming from.
Did you interview people in a more formal
setting? No, I didn’t do that kind of work.
Since the internet emerged, people have used
it to explore an exotic and erotic potential,
and a lot of friends started to test the waters
around their sexual identity. The world the
character is exploring feels authentic because
it’s a way a lot of people take their first steps
towards coming out.
Did you find it a very different experience
from making It Felt Like Love, which centres
on a woman, to making a film that centres on
a man? No, I didn’t. I thought that would be
the challenge to write a male voice – can I
understand the pressures that exist around
the character? And the answer is yes. Men
obviously write very credible narratives for
women all the time, and I think women can
write credible narratives for men because,
if you have a certain level of understanding
about the world then you can create a
character that’s an extension of that,
regardless of gender.
I l l us t rat io n by SARAH TANAT JONES
When did you develop this interest in the
lives of teenagers? I think I’ve always been
fascinated with representation of youth on screen,
particularly with the French New Wave films. I
always think of them as not being coming of age
stories, but films about young people coming
into consciousness about who they are, the pain
involved in that realisation. Coming of age as
some beautiful transformation is not what I’m
interested in. I’m more interested in the moments
that reflect the world at large.
Did you have a preconceived notion of who
you were looking for to play Frankie? I did have
a preconceived notion but I couldn’t find him! I
had all these sort of ideas of a young 19-year-old
De Niro or something. Harris [Dickinson] was so
still, his voice was so deep and his eyes subdued –
he was compelling but totally static, whereas a lot
of other people had put on this macho physicality,
wearing muscles shirts and all that. It felt very
performed, but what Harris did was very tense and
intimate and internal.
Do you enjoy the writing? Or do you prefer the
directing? I do love the writing, except that the
deeper I get into my career the more pressure
I feel to know the whole story upfront, because
you know you have to tell everybody what you’re
working on and what you see and that for me is an
obstacle. Writing for me is essentially a process
of discovery. It’s like taking the discovery and the
adventure out of filmmaking and having to know
everything before you’ve even found the voice
of the character. That type of writing is not as
enjoyable as the sort where you sit down, find a
compelling person and just work it all out
INTERVIEW 061

Unrest
Directed by JENNIFER BREA
Released 20 OCTOBER
his is a film about being lost inside your own body. Jennifer Brea had
T a life of fun and frolics laid out ahead of her. She tramped a path
around the world, met people and collected unique experiences in far-
flung locales. And then everything suddenly slowed down to a halt when
she just couldn’t muster the energy to get out of bed in the morning. Then
she couldn’t move her limbs. And then she began finding it tough to form
anything more than guttural moans. Her body gave up on her. She discovered
that she was suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (or ME as it’s more
commonly known). It’s a condition that remains a complete mystery – no one
knows what causes it, how long it lasts or how it can be cured.
At a low ebb, Brea then decided to pick up a camera and document her
experiences as well as collect personal testemonies from sufferers across
the globe. When the term ME was coined, certain wags would refer to it as
“yuppie flu”, and the task here is to overturn these glib assumptions. Just
10 seconds of footage capturing Brea walking through her garden and then
suddenly slumping to the floor in agony, screaming that it feels like her head
is expanding, should really be enough to put paid to any remaining doubters.
This is a simple, informative and clear-eyed advocacy documentary that taps
into the essential truth of how we are all essentially prisoners in waiting.
Though the film is formally a little unexiting, Brea makes sure she
captures the extent of the physical and psychological pain she experiences
daily, and much of her frustration derives from a lack of information. Plus,
she agonises over the fact that she’s hampering the progress of her go-getting
husband, who has to spend much of his time tending to her. The film works
because, even though it’s specifically about ME, it picks apart the social
stigma attached to all forms of illness (and all forms of cure). Through her
various case studies, Brea shows how some people are getting it right and
others are getting it very wrong. DAVID JENKINS
ANTICIPATION. Lauded at Sundance for
its original take on an enigmatic condition.
ENJOYMENT.
Jennifer Brea lays herself bare on screen.
IN RETROSPECT. ME is the subject, but this film touches on
anxieties connected to all forms of pyshical and mental decay.
062 REVIEWS
The Night is Short, Walk on Girl
Directed by MASAAKI YUASA
Starring GEN HOSHINO, KANA HANAZAWA,
HIROSHI KAMIYA
Released 4 OCTOBER
asaaki Yuasa’s vibrant anime, adapted from the novel by Tomihiko
M Morimi, is an After Hours-like tale that charts one very eventful
evening on a college campus in Kyoto. A girl with black hair (named The
Girl with Black Hair) is our guide through the night, taking in drinking
contests, an open-air book fair, a student-produced guerrilla musical
and an all-encompassing college festival. All the while she is pursued, at a
polite distance, by an upperclassman suitor, Senpai, who seeks to contrive
the perfect ‘surprise meeting’ that, he hopes, will kickstart their romance.
It’s a surreal slice-of-life set-up, filled with peculiar characters and
local legends, but the film’s unique aesthetic is equally bizarre. Fans of
The Tatami Galaxy – Yuasa’s previous Morimi adaptation, with which
it shares crew, cast and a creative spark – will be in familiar territory,
while those reared on Studio Ghibli and more conventional anime will
be dazzled.
At once minimal and expressive, digital yet unmistakably hand-
crafted, Yuasa and co’s animation style is an invigorating mish-mash,
as much indebted to American Saturday morning cartoons and trippy
European visual art of the ’60s and ’70s as anything produced by Japanese
studios. Simple scenes are imbued with off-kilter energies, as figures twist
and warp in motion, while eye-popping sequences of dancing, dreaming
and decadence explode into Carnaby Street colours and super-stylised
Saul Bass compositions.
It’s wild, it’s frantic and, frankly, it’s a bit much at times, but those who
lock into The Night is Short’s eccentric pace and curious point of view will
find a new obsession. Luckily for them, they won’t have to wait long for
another hit. Masaaki Yuasa’s next film, Lu Over the Wall, was released in
Japan a mere month after The Night is Short, and will be coming to UK
shores by the end of 2017. Count us in. MICHAEL LEADER
ANTICIPATION. Director Masaaki Yuasa may not be
a household name (yet), but his resume is strong.
ENJOYMENT. Looks and moves like no
other anime feature you’ve seen before.
IN RETROSPECT.
Keep an eye on this guy.
EVERYDAY BAGS AND ITEMS | WWW.SANDQVIST.NET
SANDQVIST UK FLAGSHIP STORE: 79 BERWICK STREET, SOHO, LONDON
 Dina
Directed by ANTONIO SANTINI, DAN SICKLES
Starring DINA BUNO, SCOTT LEVIN
Released 20 OCTOBER
his vérité portrait of a courting couple is, at times, a challenge to
T watch. Dina, a prizewinner at Sundance, follows Dina and Scott,
a middle aged autistic couple tentatively embarking on a relationship
and ultimately getting married. It would be easy for Dina to be too twee,
to push its protagonists into a cloying narrative of inspiration porn, but
the film thankfully avoids that route, favouring a collage of moments
from Dina’s life which avoids any added commentary. Dina has had an
exceedingly difficult existence – a traumatic past of violence and abuse
is gradually revealed – and the film presents her as a strong-willed and
sensitive woman. Many moments are intentionally mundane: the film
opens with Dina at the dentist, and later we see her lounging around
watching Sex and the City on DVD. On the surface, she could be any
suburban woman.
Dina’s Pennsylvania hometown is shot in elegantly muted tones,
with compositions of lonely looking all-American edifices that recall the
paintings of Edward Hopper. The film can at times be uncomfortable: she
and her still-virginal fiancé have awkward conversations about sex , and
directors Dan Sickles and Antonio Santini have no qualms about allowing
the viewer to be a fly on the wall. The film ends on a hopeful note, but
there’s something distinctly disorienting about having such an intimate
view of people who are too often marginalised. The disorientation of
Dina, the flinching at awkwardness and intimacy, mostly works, and in
one telling moment, she enthusiastically discusses her love of reality
TV. Dina has none of the brashness of this documentary mode, but she
and Scott, with their borderline-painful vulnerabilities sitting right on
the surface, are far more engaging to watch than the average reality star.
We root for them to be happy together, while simultaneously feeling
discomfort with how close the film places us to them. ABBEY BENDER
ANTICIPATION. A Sundance winner centering on an
autistic couple. Will it be sensitive or exploitative?
ENJOYMENT. Not enjoyable in the traditional
sense, but compelling and elegantly shot.
IN RETROSPECT. A poignant snapshot of
marginalised lives.
064 REVIEWS
Home Again
Directed by HALLIE MEYERS-SHYER
Starring REESE WITHERSPOON, PICO ALEXANDER,
MICHAEL SHEEN
Released 29 SEPTEMBER
he romantic comedy has long been derided for its tendency to focus
T on the petty problems of well-off, white and beautiful people. Hallie
Meyers-Shyer’s directorial debut Home Again unfortunately encourages
this prejudice, which her own mother (and producer) Nancy Meyers
managed to prove wrong with her films. Home Again is a tone-deaf,
embarrassing film, memorable only for some hilariously misjudged lines
and its all-round incompetence.
Reese Witherspoon plays Alice, a draft version of her character
from Jean-Marc Vallée’s critically acclaimed mini-series Big Little Lies.
She struggles with her divorce and lives with her two daughters in the
gorgeous house of her late filmmaker father in California. Her business
endeavours so far include photography and fashion design – both have
been disastrous. On the “crazy” night of her 40th birthday, she takes home
a twentysomething aspiring director (Pico Alexander, irritating dandy).
If this sounds like masterpiece material, it doesn’t deliver: drunk, the boy
pukes in the bathroom before anything happens. Cut to the morning after,
and his clothes have magically disappeared.
Immediately, a trio of his filmmaking bros, whose awful-looking
short film could apparently get them into Hollywood, move into Alice’s
place, after her mother convinces her that living with three hot young
filmmakers is definitely what she needs. Pretending to challenge the
age-gap taboo, Meyers-Shyer then focuses on the bemusement of all
involved. Worse still is how she forcefully builds a barrier between
young and old when the romance between Alice and her beau
ends after the most trivial argument in film history. Exasperating
mishaps follow. It all ends in hugs with a half-baked lesson about
friendship, independence and how not to make a romantic comedy.
MANUELA LAZIC
ANTICIPATION. Reese Witherspoon reigniting the spark of
love with young, hot filmmakers? Sounds too good to be true…
ENJOYMENT. Reese doesn’t need this,
neither does anyone else. Make it stop.
IN RETROSPECT.
Go home, you’re drunk.
BODY

FILMS Boutique
 Perfect Blue (1997)
W
Directed by hen Perfect Blue was first released in the
SATOSHI KON West, some critics couldn’t quite believe
Starring a ‘cartoon’ could be so frank in depicting
JUNKO IWAO sex and violence. Twenty years on, with Studio Ghibli
RICA MATSUMOTO having since smashed through any cloth-eyed ideas
SHINPACHI TSUJI about the limits of animation, it’s time Satoshi Kon’s
Released 1997 debut feature was recognised for what it is: a
31 OCTOBER complex, innovative psycho-thriller.
The struggle at the core of Perfect Blue is a young
women’s control of her body and identity in the
internet era, an idea that feels chillingly prescient.
The film follows Mima, a young Japanese pop idol in
the questionably-named, middlingly-successful band
ANTICIPATION. CHAM!, as she transitions into a grown-up acting
Late director Satoshi Kon became career. In doing so, the suited-up industry execs expect
known for his universe-bending her to forcibly replace her infantile public image with
yarns. Does his re-released debut racy photoshoots and hyper-sexualised rape scenes.   that stretches back from Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958
live up to his later work? However, Mima’s CHAM!-era superfans aren’t
happy, and as she’s trapped between her old and new
identities, her psyche becomes increasingly fractured.
Disturbed by a threatening fax, Mima buys a hulking
desktop Mac and painstakingly learns how to use the
ENJOYMENT. internet, but what she finds in the new digital world
Yes, as it turns out. It’s a is even more creepy. From this point on, the film
claustrophobic descent into reveals its deft touch at slipping seamlessly between
fandom, fame and obsession. reality, performance and hallucination, until Mima
is disoriented and vulnerable – lost in the plotline’s
gauzy, dreamlike layers.
The innocent ingenue’s dissolving sense of self
is a cliché of this kind of psycho-thriller. Yet Kon’s
IN RETROSPECT. attention to detail means that every scene is riddled
The twisting plot is laced with with complexity, and the kaleidoscope of viewpoints
big questions. from which we see Mima creates a nightmarish
066 REVIEWS
disorientation. Although sympathetic to Mima’s plight,
Kon is obviously lusting after her too, which brings a
meta-layer of claustrophobic heat. Masahiro Ikumi’s
spot-on soundtrack matches the uncanny atmosphere,
shifting between tinny, hyperactive J-pop and
ambient mixes of ghostly synths and human cries.
It’s cleverly put together with some gorgeous
framing, as Kon winds up the tension as the central
mystery tantalisingly plays out. Perfect Blue was
originally planned as a live-action TV series, and
despite the abundance of anime’s gratuitous shirt-
ripping, it’s a uniquely cinematic work. With his
muted, simple animation style, Kon brings film noir’s
sprawling, cramped city into early internet-era Tokyo,
where big dreams are contrasted with seedy, dimly-lit
interiors. It’s a seamless link in the cinematic chain
film Vertigo and carries on towards David Lynch’s
2001 mind-bender Mulholland Drive and Darren
Aronofsky’s Black Swan from 2010. Indeed, Perfect
Blue’s similarities to the latter film are too numerous
to mention, although Aronofsky has said he “wasn't
influenced by it”.
Perfect Blue is a bold debut by an auteur who would
go on to revisit these slippery, treacherous cinematic
climes in his better-known feature-length Paprika in
2006. Tragically, Kon died in 2010 before finishing
his final film, which still languishes uncompleted and
without funding. This 20th anniversary airing of his
debut should help spread the word about this gem, as
well as make us more hungry to know what dizzying,
dreamlike treat is still hiding in the vaults of his studio.
EVE WATLING
 Loving Vincent
A
Directed by nyone mounting a new biopic of “the
DOROTA KOBIELA father of modern art”, Vincent Van Gogh,
HUGH WELCHMAN must surely be aware of the fact that
Starring they’ve got some tough acts to follow. There’s the
DOUGLAS BOOTH vibrant Technicolor psychodrama of Vincente
SAOIRSE RONAN Minelli’s Lust for Life from 1956, with a roaringly-
CHRIS O'DOWD pained Kirk Douglas centre-stage, as often
Released chewing the scenery as he is painting it. Then
13 OCTOBER there’s Robert Altman’s characteristically shaggy
portrait of the dynamic between two brothers
in 1990’s Vincent & Theo, adding Method to the
madness of the Van Gogh saga. Finally, a year later,
came the masterfully subdued (and best) account
of the artist’s final days with Maurice Pialat’s
straightforwardly-monikered, Van Gogh, starring
French rocker Jacques Dutronc in the lead.
ANTICIPATION. Yet surely there’s room at the table for one
The first animated feature film to more VGV movie? With Loving Vincent, the Polish/
be entirely painted by hand. English directorial tag-team of Dorota Kobiela
and Hugh Welchman bring something new to the
table, even while covering familiar biographical
territory. Theirs is purportedly the first feature
film to be painted entirely by hand, employing a
ENJOYMENT. team of over 100 artists to painstakingly tackle
Aesthetically impressive, at first. each individual frame. For a 91-minute movie that’s
no mean achievement. At 24-frames-per-second,
some 130,000 individual paintings make up the
film. The effect is undoubtedly impressive. Using
a rotoscopic technique familiar to fans of Richard
IN RETROSPECT. Linklater’s A Scanner Darkly, flashbacks are
A sensationalist approach to rendered in black and white (charcoal?) while the
the artist’s final days which present-tense meat of the narrative approximates
ultimately illuminates little. Van Gogh’s own style.
Yet it’s hard to comprehend what such arduous toil
is all finally in service of, given the major screenplay
issues in evidence. The film’s drama is framed as a
mystery, asking questions around the suspicious
circumstances surrounding the artist’s death. An
opening newspaper headline tells us that Van Gogh
died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound in the fields
near Auvergne. An appallingly-mockneyed Douglas
Booth plays Armand Roulin, the son of a postmaster
tasked with delivering one of Vincent’s final letters.
He’s not convinced that the troubled artist could
collapse into suicidal agony in such a short space
of time, and begins questioning those who knew
the man in his final days. So we’re introduced to a
series of characters, each taken from one of Van
Gogh’s works. Roulin meets them, asks them a
question about Vincent which cues a flashback of
biographical monologuing, before bringing us back
to the present-tense where the amateur sleuth
moves on to another. And repeat. And repeat.
“What I’m wondering is whether people will
appreciate what he did,” says Roulin at the end of
the film. But Loving Vincent seems more concerned
with the riddle of his passing than saying much
about the artist himself, a ghostly presence in his
own narrative. It’s a sensationalistic approach
– did he shag Saoirse Ronan in that boat? – that
sheds more light on the guilt of an opportunistic
community than on the man himself. Perhaps
that’s the point, but the tedious structure and
Wikipedic dialogue illuminate about as much as
a film that finally says Van Gogh’s art looked a bit
like this. MATT THRIFT
REVIEWS 067
LONG READ
Shudders of Pleasure
Clive Barker combined his love of horror and S&M in 1987’s
Hellraiser. We pay homage to this majestic suburban gore aria.
A
promotional photo from around the time of Hellraiser’s release
–its been over 30 years now since its early screenings at Cannes
– shows director Clive Barker posing with his Panavision camera.
He is a youthful thirtysomething, dimple chinned, sober of expression, and
on the top of his right arm, which is draped over the camera’s focus ring,
there is a gigantic snail. It’s a silly bit of ‘spooky’ business to distinguish
the horror author du jour, but not altogether inappropriate – the movie
that Barker was making would leave quite a slime trail behind it. Hellraiser
has a particular texture; it’s grotty and soiled and a little abrasive, like
synthetic stucco or pebbledash. It’s one of those movies that you can
instantly recognise from a single frame. Years back I caught a flash of some
nondescript scene on a television at a heavy metal bar and I knew what it
was right away, despite then not having seen the movie since adolescence –
part of this, I think, has to do with that texture, part of it with the fact that
Hellraiser is probably the movie you’re most likely to encounter playing on
a TV in a heavy metal bar.
It is difficult to describe to anyone under the age of 25 the level of
celebrity achieved by a small cache of horror writers in the 1980s. Barker
was a household name, as was, for the grade school crowd, RL Stine, and
of course both of them lived in the shadow of Stephen King, who never
really went away. Before Barker signed on for Hellraiser, King had
shown the way to expanding a franchise to multiplatinum delivery, not
only licensing his novels for film adaptation faster than he could write
them, but sometimes participating in the films themselves. King gives a
grotesque, mugging performance as a gormless backwoodsman in 1982’s
Creepshow, and handled directing duties himself, after a fashion, on 1986’s
Maximum Overdrive.
Around the same time Barker was also making his way into features –
he wrote the screenplays to 1985’s Underworld and 1986’s Rawhead Rex,
both directed by George Pavlou. But his ambitions as a cineaste went back
further than King’s. Born in Liverpool and raised near Penny Lane, Barker
stayed in the city for university. He was by then pursuing an interest in
theatre, particularly that of the transgressive variety, which would pick
up the legacy of Paris’s Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol. He would become
a central player in a group of creative collaborators which included his pal
from Quarry Bank High School, Doug Bradley, who would eventually star
as Hellraiser’s dead-eyed breakout creature star, billed as “Lead Cenobite”
in the credits but later affectionately nicknamed Pinhead. Barker’s troupe
went through several incarnations, always with him at the core: The Hydra
Theatre Company became the Theatre of the Imagination which in turn
became the Mute Pantomime Theatre (Bradley recalls a production called
Wo rds by NICK PINKERTON I l l us t rat io n by SARAH TANAT JONES
‘A Clowns’ Sodom’), and then finally, after Barker and Bradley had moved
down to London, The Dog Company.
Concurrent with his work in “fringe” theater, Barker was also trying
his hand as a filmmaker, producing two non-synch sound shorts, Salome
(1973) and The Forbidden (1978), the latter of which introduced the
image of a bed of nails pounded into a gridwork pattern. Neither Barker’s
film experiments nor his theatre efforts nor his piecemeal work as an
illustrator – he contributed one of the variations on John Entwistle’s
mug to the cover of The Who’s ‘Face Dances’ – made him much of a living.
But when the first of his ‘Books of Blood’ short story collections was a
publishing phenomenon, he soon turned his hand to cranking out novels.
His second effort in that line, ‘The Hellbound Heart’, published at a slim
186 pages by Dark Harvest in 1986, concerns an amoral sybarite torn to
shreds by interdimensional Cenobite demons after using a mystical puzzle
box to access a plane of what is purported to be overwhelming sensory
gratification. ‘The Hellbound Heart’ would form the basis of Hellraiser –
though perhaps “basis” isn’t quite the word, as the timeline suggests that
the book was very much written with the idea of a movie in mind.
Part of Barker’s stated motive for going back into movies was to
prevent low-quality adaptations of his writing being made – he was
vocally critical, for example, of Rawhead Rex. By 1986, Barker’s name
was enough to command him a budget of just under $1 million from a
post-Roger Corman New World Pictures as a first-time feature director
shooting a movie absent of real stars. The nearest thing to one is Andrew
Robinson, a Don Siegel favorite who appeared in Charlie Varrick (1973)
and as the serial killer “Scorpio” in Dirty Harry (1971). Here he switches
from nasties to play the ultimate fall guy cuckold, Larry, the clueless
brother of the abovementioned pleasure-seeker, Frank (Sean Chapman).
The circumstances of Frank’s disappearance are unknown to all but the
viewer – we’ve seen him being julienned by the Cenobites in the film’s
prologue. Larry moves back into the family abode in the company of his
wife, Julia (Claire Higgins), a haughty ice queen whose preferred pastime
is remembering the time that she allowed Frank to ravage her. As such,
she’s overjoyed (and understandably a little taken aback) when a few drops
of blood from a moving day accident bring Frank back to life – of a sort.
The resurrected Frank, far from the sexual athlete of memory, is a pus-
smeared hunk of masticated gristle, sequestered in the house’s dingy attic.
He will, he explains, need real blood sacrifices in order to fully reconstitute
himself. Julia mulls over this moral quandary for all of a minute, but her
burning loins carry the day, and soon she’s an old pro at luring podgy
businessmen home from yuppie boîtes and leading them upstairs to
F E AT U R E 0 6 9
smash their skulls in with a claw hammer. According to Barker, one of the
ladies on the set suggested the film should be titled, “What a Woman Will
do for a Good Fuck.”
If there is a metaphor in all of this for, say, Britain under Thatcher, I fail
to track it. In point of fact it’s never actually clear as to where Hellraiser
is taking place – Larry makes reference to bringing his wife back to her
home turf and Cotton speaks with an English accent, but scarcely anyone
else in the movie does, and the London-born Chapman was dubbed in
post production at the behest of the film’s backers. (In fact the exteriors
for the house where most of the movie takes place were shot at 187 Dollis
Hill Lane in northwest London; the interiors were done in Cricklewood.)
The dimension of social commentary, which eulogies to the late George A
Romero are currently praising his movies for while entirely ignoring what
really distinguished him as a filmmaker, is here almost entirely lacking,
and the plot is at a minimum. Suspense is nominally supplied by Larry’s
imperilment, and then by the threat posed to Larry’s daughter from
a previous marriage, Kirsty (Ashley Laurence), who absconds with the
puzzle box from Frank and tries to bargain with the Cenobites, promising
to offer up her corrupted uncle, who has escaped their wrath, in exchange
for her life.
“The Cenobites are a quartet
of ghastlies in shiny black
leatherette who skip
from dimension to dimension
practising fatal S&M.”
In absence of these qulities, Hellraiser focuses on devising images
designed to induce a combination of wonderment and sheer, visceral
disgust, from the various flayed Franks to the simple but effective scene
of the meat of a human hand being ripped open by a rusty nail. Barker is
an outspoken admirer of the Italian gore director Lucio Fulci, and in
such moments, it shows. Horror is, like science fiction, a genre where the
make-up effects person can be a matinee star, and Hellraiser elevated Bob
Keen to something close to Tom Savini-level celebrity among the ‘Fangoria’
set. It was Keen who helped create the different skinned Franks – played by
actor Oliver Smith, chosen because he was enough of a weedy ectomorph
to still appear stripped down beneath built-up layers of heavy makeup. The
raw, gore-damp Frank recalls certain Florentine medical illustrations or
Honoré Fragonard’s 18th century ‘écorchés,’ prepared cadavers stripped of
skin still on display at the museum that bears his name in Paris. The image of
the skinned man is one that Barker had visited before in both The Forbidden
and his 1981 play ‘Frankenstein in Love’, billed, as Hellraiser might have
been, “A Grand Guignol Romance.” Frank’s rebirth from beneath the attic
floorboards is a sickening, stately set-piece, quite on a par with anything
in David Cronenberg’s The Fly or John Carpenter’s The Thing, movies
which pushed analog visual effects to the limits of their viscous possibilities.
Barker and Keen’s other indelible creations were, of course, the Cenobites
themselves, a quartet of ghastlies in shiny black leatherette who skip from
dimension to dimension practising fatal S&M. They are led by Bradley, who
07 0 F E AT U R E
had first played a somewhat similar judge, jury and executioner character
called The Dutchman in Barker’s 1973 play Hunters in the Snow.
Some of Barker’s ideas didn’t come to fruition. He toned down
Julia’s thirsty flashback, which plays slightly camp as is, from a freakier
original, doing due diligence for the censors, who apparently saw nothing
overly alarming about the film’s catalogue of methods for shredding and
pulverising the human form. He’d wanted an original soundtrack from
Coil, the electronic duo comprised of John Balance and former Throbbing
Gristle member Peter Christopherson, a far from radio-friendly couple
who’d released an album called ‘Scatology’ and trafficked in imagery
rich with sexual deviance and body horror. (Hellraiser’s discourse with
the visuals coming out of contemporary industrial music cannot be
overstated.) Instead he got Christopher Young, whose credits included
Tobe Hooper’s Invaders from Mars and A Nightmare on Elm Street 2:
Freddy’s Revenge – and in fact Young more than acquitted himself with
his more traditional orchestral score, including the darkly roiling theme.
Despite these imposed compromises, including the disorienting non-
specificity of the film’s setting – who could possibly think it was a liability
to set a haunted house movie in England? – Hellraiser was a massive hit,
making the stuff of hardcore kink subculture into a suburban Halloween
costume. Barker, discussing his original conception of Pinhead, has
mentioned the influence of Catholicism – Pinhead’s get-up suggests a
combination of butcher’s smock and cassock; the nails driven into his face at
even intervals, some strange ritual of penitence; and his bearing is that of an
undead Torquemada. Also influential was Barker’s predilection for BDSM
– as a young man he contributed an illustration to the periodical ‘S&M’, the
publication of which led to charges of obscenity against the magazine, and
the author, who is openly gay, has been known to drop references to leather
and muscle bars like Los Angeles’ Faultline into interviews. (Remembering
the leather club scene in fellow Liverpudlian Terence Davies’ 1980 Madonna
and Child, one wonders if the two ever crossed paths…)
Sadomasochistic subtext in horror cinema is nothing new – you can
trace a lineage through Edgar G Ulmer’s The Black Cat, Mario Bava’s The
Whip and the Body and Hitchcock’s Frenzy, right up to the present day.
It’s this connection which caused the perspicacious Parker Tyler, in his
1947 volume ‘The Magic and Myth of the Movies’, to write, discussing the
critical prejudice against horror films: “It may be conventional to have
contempt for those adults childish enough to shudder with pleasure at the
sight of a lovely, seminude woman helpless in the arms of an irresponsible
and repulsive synthetic man. But the obscure processes of sadism are
certainly not contemporary news.” It was unusual, still, for a horror film to
draw so heavily on the actual appurtenances of kink culture, as Hellraiser
does: the subtext has become text.
To hear Barker tell it, the popular success of Hellraiser wasn’t so
much a great leap forward but a continuation and confirmation of the
work he’d been up to in the obscure trenches of short films and theatrical
productions. “Doing a low-budget movie in a house in Cricklewood is the
equivalent of the eight-quid play,” he told interviewer Peter Atkins. “I’d
go further; low-budget moviemaking is fringe theatre, except that you
can actually get the audience numbers I always wanted us to get. It’s what
fringe theatre claims to be and so often isn’t – non-elitist, populist.” And
Hellraiser does put on quite a show for the punters – while thin on plot,
what it offers, like Barker’s Lord of Illusions in its better moments, is the
solemn majesty of ceremony, a sense of awe at the awful possibilities of
the body in restoration and unjoining. Despite its moments of neophyte
clunkiness, Barker’s film conveys a keen understanding of magic and
myth, and its shudders of pleasure are undiminished
Hellraiser: 30th Anniversary is released on 30 October.
4 – 15 OCTOBER
SEE THE WORLD’S BEST NEW FILMS. FIRST.
Supported by Main Sponsors Media Partner
 Brimstone
T
Directed by he tall, one-eyed preacher in the long
MARTIN KOOLHOVEN black coat strode slowly to the altar, the
Starring cold jangle of his spurs the only sound
DAKOTA FANNING to be heard in the spartan chapel. His lean face is
GUY PEARCE wind-chapped and weathered. He was handsome
KIT HARINGTON once, but his features have long been hardened
Released by the evil of men and the fury of his own belief.
29 SEPTEMBER Surveying the parishioners, he begins his sermon
in a voice that is at once beguiling and unyielding.
“Beware of false prophets…”
It’s impossible to know if the script for Martin
Koolhoven’s Brimstone starts with those exact
lines, but these things usually do. It’s a badass
opening that works for everything from Delta
ANTICIPATION. blues songs and loopy Manga comics to humdrum
Sadomasochistic perversion and video games. And while it may be a little hackneyed
Dutch religious zealotry in the and sophomoric, it sets the board out nicely and
Old West. Okay. allows for some blustery monologuing. It’s a scene
that’s fun to write and to watch, as well as being
catnip for prop-gnawing actor-types. The trouble
is, when the sermon is over and the church doors
open, scenes like these cease to write themselves
ENJOYMENT. and the heavy loads of plot, motivation, structure,
Boiled down to 90 mins this characterisation and world-building are added to
would be a low three, but at ’roid- the saddle-bags.
bursting 148 it’s gotta be a… The film doesn’t wholly buckle under these
demands, but neither does it ever truly steady
itself enough to set off in an entirely consistent,
distinctive or credible direction. Its whopping 148
minute runtime feels less suggestive of grand ideas
IN RETROSPECT. or epic scope than of the filmmakers’ hope that if
Some nice ingredients, but all they keep the cameras rolling, inspiration will
placed together, tastes pretty foul. spring from behind a rock.
072 REVIEWS
Guy Pearce is the preacher who arrives into a town
of black bonnets, pale, insular northern European
settlers, pig farms and fiercely-styled neckbeards.
It soon becomes apparent that his biblical ire is
specifically directed at Dakota Fanning (mute) and her
adoptive family (unremarkable, disposable). Fanning-
Pearce, naturally, have a long and turbulent history that
is recounted through a series of portentously inter-
titled chapters that unfold back through their violent,
God-bothered relationship.
This backward-spooling structure is nothing
especially innovative (Pearce himself has red-hot form
in the genre in the shape of 2000’s Memento) but here
it adds significantly to the plotting and gifts our central
pair a mystique that they – ultimately – do not deserve.
Pearce is swiftly revealed to be nothing more than a
sexually-maddened religious nut (who morphs from
boiling-point puritan to omniscient boogeyman at the
drop of a broad-brimmed hat) and Fanning an innocent
turned ingenious survivor who will do anything to
escape the bloody orthodoxy of her tormentor. Does
that make Brimstone a Miltonian spin on feminist
emancipation, or just a slasher movie with frock coats?
The road to hell is rather famously paved with good
intentions, and for all of Brimstone’s Promised Lands,
Solomonic wisdom, sacrificial lambs, Infernos and
desert wanderings, it is fundamentally little more than a
well dressed, handsomely conceived theo-thriller with
ideas – some of them decent, but all of them familiar
– a little above the station of a crazed revenger. If you
have a tiny gap in your rootin’-tootin’ Rolodex between
Deadwood and The Assassination of Jesse James…, this
will slot right in, never to be used. ADAM LEE DAVIES
 Strong Island
L
Directed by ate on a spring evening in 1992, in the parking
YANCE FORD lot of a Long Island body shop, a 24-year-old
Released man named William Ford was shot dead by a
17 SEPTEMBER 19-year old mechanic, Mark Riley. William was black
and unarmed. His killer was white. Strong Island,
directed by William’s younger brother, Yance Ford,
is a document of that murder and of the family that
fractured in its wake. In spite of no evidence to suggest
that Yance’s brother was dangerous, a Grand Jury
determined that the homicide was an act of self-defense.
According to them, no crime had been committed. The
case didn’t even make it to trial.
In his documentary Strong Island, Ford offers
ANTICIPATION. a remarkable, incisive examination of his own
Prescient documentary family history, harnessing a long-gestating grief and
filmmaking from a family- channelling it into an emotionally draining but vital
oriented perspective. piece of work. Building from his parents’ meeting
and marriage in 1965, Ford uses intimate interviews
alongside joyful family photo album inserts. Speaking
to his mother, sister and close family friends, he gives
a sense of the close-knit happiness of the Ford family
ENJOYMENT. – before the staggering trauma inflicted on them
A harrowing, raw by William’s murder. The film balances the delicate
experience with a deeply world of personal bereavement with a methodical
intelligent internal rhythm. examination of a broken justice system. It takes an
unswerving scalpel to the finer details of the case.
Using startling close-ups of his face in direct
address to the camera, Yance’s confessional and frank
musings punctuate the film’s narrative. Near the
IN RETROSPECT. beginning, he says, “I’m not angry. But I’m also not
Essential, devastating viewing. willing to allow someone else to get to say who William
Ford makes the personal was.” Instead, we see the real man, sketched through
deeply political. diary entries, photos, anecdotes and even surprising
accounts of personal heroism. The film steadily undoes
the faceless victim cliché, just as much as it strips away the
absurdity of the ‘scary black man’ narrative.
There’s a sinuous internal rhythm to Strong
Island, and every stylistic feels like it has been fully
considered. It avoids showering too many facts on
the audience all at once, carefully withholding pivotal
pieces of information as a way to develop the drama.
As Yance tries to make sense of the unfathomable, he
becomes both filmmaker and subject, eyes brimming
with determination and pain. The larger implications
of this injustice are never lost on Ford, who builds the
autobiographical details of his family life as inextricable
from the history of American racism. His parents
originally hailed from Charleston, South Carolina,
where they left the Jim Crow South and worked their
way up to the middle class suburbs of New York.
But racial animus was never far behind. The Ford
family were determined to raise their children in an
environment where – in Mrs Ford’s words – “character,
not colour” mattered most. But in light of dozens more
cases involving the deaths of unarmed black men, the
details of William Ford’s story are tragically familiar.
Yance and William’s mother, Barbara – a lifelong
educator – is in many ways the emotional anchor of the
film. Interviewed in her kitchen over long periods, she
is articulate, warm, and insightful. “I did William a great
disservice raising him the way we did,” Barbara says.
She’d always avoided instilling fear or doubt about race
into her kids. She never asked them to be mindful or
cautious of other people’s racism. How heartbreaking
that her philosophy could ever be perceived as
unwise. CHRISTINA NEWLAND
REVIEWS 073
 Una
U
Directed by na was groomed by her next door neighbour
BENEDICT ANDREWS Ray as a young teenager before being
Starring whisked off to a seaside motel room on
ROONEY MARA an ‘adventure’ and then being abandoned. As Una,
BEN MENDELSOHN Rooney Mara is brittle, confrontational and hidden
TARA FITZGERALD behind a curtain of dark hair. She is roguishly
Released handled by Ray (Ben Mendelsohn), having turned
1 SEPTEMBER up to his anonymous warehouse in search of
answers. This single-location, hothouse play about
being haunted by a past that will not wash away was
a trap for first-time film director Benedict Andrews.
When transposing David Harrower’s text from
the stage (known as Blackbird in that form) to the
screen, he had two options, and both were riddled
with risks.
ANTICIPATION. The first option is to leave it as a stark, 90-minute
Mara and Mendelsohn plus confrontation that gradually revisits decades of
Harrower’s play promise pain and confusion in a sterile break room. This
something explosive. would have undoubtedly felt absurdly confined
and possibly contrived. The second is Andrews’
eventual choice and what makes Una a film that is
nauseatingly tense to witness but devoid of any kind
of driving tension. He opens out the play, allowing
ENJOYMENT. the emotions and story to spill out of the room.
Tense and challenging, but only It often achieves the opposite effect to creating
fitfully engaging. something more cinematic and finely drawn, that
explores the wide-reaching effect Ray’s abuse
has had on Una. The spaces for exploration exist,
the film having expanded the cast from two to
20 (Ray’s loyal employee Scott, played by Riz
IN RETROSPECT. Ahmed, being one of them) to manufacture some
If only it didn’t show all its cards additional complications: along with flashbacks to
so early... Una’s adolescence, which often feel uncomfortably
074 REVIEWS
voyeuristic and needlessly expositional. But these
often feel empty, as in Andrews’ hands, Una reveals
all its secrets in the opening scenes, to an extent
there remains little little reason to watch the
following 85-or-so minutes.
In expanding the narrative into his own bounds
but still retaining enough, Andrews loses the mystery
of the play. The discovery of what exactly happened
to Una is, in Harrower’s text, revealed through vague
anecdotes and offhand comments that gradually
sink under the skin in a sickening realisation. “Are
you allergic to me?”, asked by Una when Ray starts
rubbing his eyes, is a memorable one.
As a first time director from theatre, Andrews
makes the mistake of rendering the film flat by
relying entirely on dull medium shots, adding a
slight tilt when wanting to show some contrast in
the power relationship – Una’s first glimpses of Ray
sees a camera tilt down to look at her as she looks
over the back of the chair. But while Andrews’
visuals are unengaging, he is undeniably adept at
directing Mara and Mendelsohn to generate the
crucially unpredictable atmosphere of the film.
At times, it is so shockingly intense that it has the
power to rip to tatters in an instant as it rattles with
frayed nerves, hairline cracks that gradually expand
under the pressure until they finally shatter. It’s
as brittle as the metaphorical glass box Una finds
herself confined in, unable to escape while Ray
disappears behind a new name and a cavernous
warehouse. “The only thing I didn’t lose was my
name,” Una says. If you look closely, you can see the
cracks beginning to form. ELLA DONALD
 God’s Own Country
I
Directed by t’s just about the greatest two-word line of
FRANCIS LEE dialogue you could imagine. Johnny, our
Starring abrasive, troubled, twenty-ish Yorkshire farmer,
JOSH O’CONNOR has just buggered some lithe young chap in a horse-
ALEC SECAREANU box. No apologies for using that word either, since
IAN HART this is an act of aggression and domination. Still, the
Released victim wonders if ‘we’ could go for a drink sometime,
1 SEPTEMBER and gets a brusque slap-down for his pains. “No we”
says Johnny, and at this stage in the proceedings
that sums him up precisely. So far as family, friends
and everyone else is concerned, he’s a scrunched-
up ball of scorn, bitter at struggling to keep the
ANTICIPATION. farm afloat while his ailing old dad keeps telling him
Farming hardship, gay sex, what to do. And Josh O’Connor’s compelling central
Romanian migrant....is this just a performance gives it all to us unvarnished and raw.
box-ticking exercise? Then we see him alone with one of the family’s
cows. Softly-spoken and genuine in his concern, even
while he has a plastic-wrapped arm elbow-deep in
her behind. Evidently, there’s tenderness lurking
within his gruff exterior, but will it ever emerge from
ENJOYMENT. behind the wall of bitterness he’s put up between
Starts off with familiar himself and the world?
grungy naturalism, then gets Ten minutes in, and with masterly economy,
sensual, emotive and spiritual. first-time writer-director Francis Lee has set up a
drama of universal resonance within a highly specific
local landscape. Furthermore, there’s something
utterly archetypal about the way a stranger entering
this environment proves the catalyst to move
IN RETROSPECT. everything forward. Gheorghe (Alec Secareanu) is
You’ll find yourself getting teary a wily Romanian migrant, taken on as a hired hand,
a week later – a potent, haunting who’s a dab hand at lambing, knows his way round a
meditation on the soul-stirring dry-stone wall, and, more importantly, transmutes
significance of being open to love. Johnny’s sexual advances into something a whole
lot more sensual. He might at first seem a bit too
good to be true, yet in expressing his nurturing
instincts towards another man in a way which
would never have been possible in his homeland,
this wise traveller opens up whole new vistas for
the emotionally closed-in protagonist. Indeed,
what’s quite magical here, is the way in which a
film so seemingly austere and undemonstrative in
its washed-out colour and no-frills camerawork,
uses sparing means – the primacy of touch, a glint
of sunlight, flowers on a kitchen table, the ecstatic
drone of A Winged Victory for the Sullen’s stealthy
score – to convey the sudden blessing of love. To
show us and Johnny how its dizzying, transformative
vulnerability, can bring life even more alive.
For all the way in which the subject matter
apparently touches on very public issues (the economy
of the land, LGBT rights, post-Brexit attitudes), in
essence the film is absolutely intimate and personal,
shaped by marvellously believable performances and
ultimately achieving a heart-rending authenticity.
Taking characters and audience alike on a soul-
stirring journey, in British cinema terms, it’s surely
a throwback to the era of autobiographical trilogies
of Terence Davies and Bill Douglas – films which
start out with their feet on the ground yet reach to
the heavens. For fortysomething writer/director
Lee, it’s an outstanding achievement, perhaps
the strongest British début since Lynne Ramsay’s
Ratcatcher. No doubt about it, there’s a lifetime’s
craft, wisdom and tears packed into this eloquent
statement of emotional and spiritual possibilities.
TREVOR JOHNSTON
REVIEWS 075
 Daphne
L
Directed by ondon is currently playing host to a rash
PETER MACKIE BURNS of crimes where young teenagers toss acid
Starring in to the face of random strangers as the
EMILY BEECHAM prelude to a theft. On the news, anchors describe
GERALDINE JAMES how these attacks result in “life-changing” injuries,
TOM VAUGHAN-LAWLOR emphasising that, in an instant, fate can deal you the
Released bummest of bum hands. Peter Mackie Burns’ soulful
29 SEPTEMBER debut feature Daphne explores a similar conundrum,
as it follows a young, single, bewildered woman as
she witnesses a stabbing in an all-night off licence.
One moment it’s tipsy revelry and basking in the
romantic glow of twinkling street lamps, the next it’s
the insta-sobering moment where you’re clutching
a man as he bleeds out on the deck, requesting to
glimpse a grubby photograph of his children before
ANTICIPATION. he potentially shuffles off. How can a person just
Could a new star be born in carry on regardless after this shot of high trauma?
the lead of this low-key This is the kind of fragile, high-wire character
character piece? piece that lives or dies on the strength of its
lead performance, and luckily Burns has drafted
in relative newcomer Emily Beecham as the
eponymous heroine. Actually, “heroine” isn’t
exactly the right term to describe Daphne – she’s
ENJOYMENT. more of an impetuous focal point who, on the
Yes she could, even though the wrong side of 30, is locked in a constant tailspin.
film itself has some niggles. Her dominant trait is that she always says yes until
you give her just one small reason to say no. She’s
impulsive, but only in the company of like-minded
souls. Self-doubt and sensible behaviour lead to
instant rejection, as if she can’t abide the residual
IN RETROSPECT. responsibility of others. It’s like she can only feel
A work (and a performance) that happy if she is able to see other people making all
matures in the mind. the same bad decisions that she is.
076 REVIEW
She works in a restaurant where all the staff wear
muslin aprons, but only so she has the cash to go out
and get drunk when her shift is over. Smoking numbs
the pain of her loneliness. She has acquaintances
rather than friends, and human contact comes
in the form of watchful randos, like an amourous
bouncer or the delivery guy of the local Indian
takeaway. Daphne is not a likeable or endearing
character in any sense – you want to shake some
sense into her. But Beecham works hard to make
sure an empathatic core is visible through the mire
of confusion and narcissism. She’s not a bad person,
she’s just a lost person who’s finding it very tough to
be good. Her long night of the soul comes after one
of her customary drink-ups where a quick nip into
a shop for fags leaves her with weeping existential
scars. Yet this is no conventional epiphany, as it
sends Daphne even further down her furrow of
solitude. Her depression has reached a dangerous
low that borders on the nihilistic.
The brooding negative emotions are brought to
life by the original and atmospheric depiction of
a city that’s anonymous, mysterious and shorn of
iconic landmarks. If the film has any issues, it’s that
some of the interactions err on the synthetic – they
feel too much like visual representations of words
on a page. There are numerous meet cutes that come
to nothing, and there’s the feeling that Burns is
trying too hard to achieve a free-flowing naturalism
through carefully calibrated performances. But
it’s Beecham’s combustible, subtly alienating and
hopefully star-making central turn that gives this
flighty film its wings. DAVID JENKINS
IN CONVERSATION...
Emily Beecham
The star of Daphne
talks likable
characters, Fleabag
and seeing Nicole
Kidman in the nude.
A
star is born in Daphne, a delicate,
London-set character study about
a young woman who vents her
depression in a number of bizarre ways. Emily
Beecham delivers a thrilling turn in the tile role,
capitalising on a career working in theatre, film
and television – she is currently installed as fan
favourite The Widow in Into the Badlands.
LWLies: Was there a moment in your life
where you decided you wanted to be an actor?
Beecham: I think my mum took me to see
theatre and, um, I saw ‘The Blue Room’ when I
was 13 which was probably an inappropriate age
to watch that.
Was that the Nicole Kidman one with lots of
nudity? Oh my god. I know…
And you thought, ‘I wanna do that’? I just liked
the, um… I watched Michael Winterbottom’s
Wonderland on television when I was quite young
as well, and I think they both had a big impact
on me. With theatre, everything is exposed. It’s
Interview by DAVID JENKINS I l l us t rat io n by SARAH TANAT JONES
about telling the truth and being honest about
relationships and character dynamics. I think
growing up in quite a repressive town I really
responded to seeing that reflection of reality. And
that’s what I love about film and theatre still: the
way they expose truths and explore life.
What was your training? I went to LAMDA
which is a theatre training school and then went
straight into film and television, so I had to
unlearn all of that.
Are they entirely separate disciplines? They’re
very different. But then it’s very similar as well.
It’s just a different system. With theatre you’re
running the whole play and you can get lost in that,
but when you’re doing film it’s so split up and to hit
your mark is very technical. Film is smaller. When
I first started out in film I was told to be smaller.
I was too big.
As in too extrovert? Yeah. In theatre, you have
to be larger. And then you have to bring it down
or its really unnatural. But yeah it’s different so
now when I have a theatre audition I’m told to
make it bigger, and that feels huge to me now.
Had you done anything like Daphne before? No.
I always wanted to do an independent film. It’s
such a reflection of reality and it’s not shackled
to commercial concerns. On an independent film
you can make almost any choice you want. With
more commercial shows, like Into the Badlands,
they want something so specific. There’s no
leniency in that, but with Daphne its completely
the opposite and that’s what I’m drawn to – as a
viewer and a participant.
Do you have to see yourself in a character for
there to be a connection? Maybe there just has
to be an understanding. If you don’t get why
your character is doing something you can’t
make it work. This sense of understanding
also makes it more enjoyable and fun. It
allows you to be more creative.
How do you feel about the idea that Daphne
is unlikable? Does that make the character
harder to play? I like her abrasiveness, but
some of the press reactions had been a bit
similar. I’m friends with Phoebe Waller-
Bridge who did Fleabag and we’d both been
making them at the same time. I think the
characters have similar traits. With that, some
people really connected to the character and
really loved her, and there were others who
were offended and asking why this character
deserved to be on the screen. I don’t think
characters have to be likeable. Everyone is
good and bad.
Is Daphne a tomboy? Yes, and that’s actually
one of the things I loved about her. She is
genderless in a way. I’m actually reading some
more interesting scripts now since Badlands
and Daphne, but yeah, you do read a lot of
girlfriends and women who are, you know,
supportive and lovely and vulnerable. They’re
always the same traits, over and over. You
feel pressured to be an attractive character.
You tend to feel that what these people want
– what producers want – is a cut-and-dried
loveable character and nothing more. And it’s
just not that interesting. And it’s certainly not
very real. Daphne’s different. As is Fleabag
INTERVIEW 077
 On Body and Soul
Directed by ILDIKÓ ENYEDI
Starring GÉZA MORCSÁNYI, ALEXANDRA BORBÉLY,
RÉKA TENKI
Released 22 SEPTEMBER
stag trots slowly, majestically through a snowy woodland glade and
A sets its glistening eyes on a nearby doe. The two animals encircle one
another, getting close but never quite connecting. Then suddenly, paff, it
was all a dream. The twist is, this nocturnal vision was being formed in
two minds at the same time: one belongs to Endre (Géza Morcsányi), an
awkward, middle-aged factory foreman with one working arm; the other is
Maria (Alexandra Borbély), a young, quietly intense quality tester. Maybe the
imagery that connects their inner consciousness is a result of the fact that
they work in an abattoir and are in constant close quarters to mechanised
animal slaughter – innocent creatures being sliced to pieces. Or, perhaps,
they have a more robust psychic connection that can’t be quantified?
Ildikó Enyedi’s intriguing and original film (her first of the 21st century)
examines this eccentric workplace relationship as it evolves from an
uncomfortable acquaintance to the moment these two oddballs realise they
may be part of something deeper. Yet the director grounds this potentially
fantastical tale in the trappings of the mundane everyday, more interested
in gauging how behaviour alters in public and private spheres. Enyedi
isn’t interested in building up a mythology or contriving a reason for it all,
instead drafting the idea as a metaphorical marker of unlikely associations.
The film’s second half offers a bold and bleak vision of depression caused
by stifled feelings – the idea of not being able to amply express an emotion
that’s locked inside. Endre is a sad-sack who believes that he could never
be physically attractive to a person of the opposite sex, while Maria has
pre-existing issues which prevent her from acting on impulse. Enyedi trips
through these inner and outer lives, skipping from elation to devastation
in the space of an edit. She seems completely enraptured by the infinite
complexity of human biology and the crooked architecture of the mind.
DAVID JENKINS
ANTICIPATION. Snagged the top prize at the 2017
Berlin Film Festival from Werner Herzog’s jury.
ENJOYMENT. Mad, singular and heart-
stirring in a way that’s hard to comprehend.
IN RETROSPECT. Let’s hope the wait for Enyedi’s
next film is a little shorter.
078 REVIEWS
Zoology
Directed by IVAN TVREDOVSKIY
Starring NATALYA PAVLENKOVA, DMITRIY GROSHEV,
IRINA CHIPIZHENKO
 Released 29 SEPTEMBER
fter growing a grotesque, fleshy tail, a lonely, middle-aged zoo
A administrator’s journeys from obscurity to infamy unfolds in the
Russian fable, Zoology. It would be easy to get lost in the tail end of the
narrative but there is much more subtle emotion to be found throughout.
With a modest 91-minute runtime, the film’s thought-provoking depth
manages to sustain the lightly bound plot. It delivers a piercing social
commentary on inner beauty over outer vanity through metaphors
depicting public perceptions of gender and sexuality.
 There is a joyous and often-unorthodox relationship formed between
central protagonist Natasha (Natalya Pavlenkova) and her handsome
radiologist, Peter (Dmitriy Groshev). His kindness and nonchalant
reaction to her tail draws her out of her bleak shell and, after a slightly
drunken, brilliantly composed sledding session, their companionship is
set. Russian writer/director Ivan Tvredovskiy allows the restraint of his
characters to build up a sense of hair-trigger tension until animalistic
impulses take over.
 Ongoing gossip among the townsfolk about this “witch” with nefarious
abilities is also manipulated brilliantly, keeping the blend of fantasy and
oppressive social views relevantly intertwined within the narrative.
Natasha’s gradual acceptance and eventual fear-mongering to create a
sense of self-empowerment commendably shows the extent of her
growth throughout the film as well.  Credit must be paid to Pavlenkova’s
performance as the repressed recluse. She throws herself into the role head
on, leaving it all on screen. It is no wonder the director brought the Russian
actress back after working with her on his first feature, the well-received
2014 film, Corrections Class. Out of the blocks with two strong showings
already, Tvredovskiy’s young career has shown great promise and has us
all eagerly awaiting his prospective work. JOSH HOWEY
ANTICIPATION. Tverdovskiy’s new feature combines
fairy tale narratives with brash modern realities.
ENJOYMENT. A courageous performance accompanied by a
horribly realistic human tail dangling from beneath her skirt.
IN RETROSPECT. Manages to tell the story of a
woman growing a tail with sad and memorable conviction.
ukjewishfilm.org
 My Journey Through French Cinema
Directed by
BERTRAND TAVERNIER
Released
15 SEPTEMBER
ANTICIPATION.
A personal journey
through French movies.
With Bertrand Tavernier.
ENJOYMENT.
At double the length, this would
still be too short.
IN RETROSPECT.
An illuminating hymn to
filmmaking and cinephilia.
080 REVIEWS
F
or cinephiles of a certain age, there was
perhaps no more treasured possession than a
well-worn VHS copy of Martin Scorsese’s 1995
documentary, A Personal Journey Through American
Movies. A treasure-map of the filmmaker’s formative
influences, many almost impossible to see in those
pre-golden age days of home video, it offered
innumerable pick-your-poison grail-quests for
those of us yet to know our Budd Boetticher from
our Delmer Daves.
Just two years older than Scorsese, Bertrand
Tavernier was too young to come of age as a
filmmaker during French cinema’s most widely-
celebrated époque, the New Wave. He was, however,
present for its inception – whether hanging with
Truffaut on the set of The 400 Blows or cruising
through the streets of Paris with Jean-Pierre
Melville as he extemporised on the two categories
of film (“crap” and “masterpiece”) from behind
the wheel.
Tavernier’s route from young cinephile to
critic to filmmaker was a familiar one, and serves
as the structural backbone for his own personal
journey through French movies in this essential
documentary. Where Scorsese cast his net wide,
largely charting the psychological impact his
filmmaking heroes had on an impressionable
mind, Tavernier takes in a mere dozen over the
course of his 192 minutes, generously apportioning
time to illuminating technical commentary and
digressional, first-hand myth-busting.
Even if you’re familiar with many of the films
under discussion, Tavernier’s pointed analysis
serve to send you back to the works in question
with fresh eyes, his acute formal readings often
accompanied by a dismantling of established
truths. So while we get an extended reading of the
function of Renoir’s lateral camera movements
within the context of a scene (“A reaction against
his father’s attempts to abolish depth of field”),
we also get a dismissal of his self-proclaimed
improvisatory skills on a celebrated sequence-shot,
alongside Jean Gabin’s barbed characterisation –
“As a director, a genius; as a person, a whore.”
While Tavernier’s personal relationships
with many of the filmmakers in question help
to humanise through a fascinating succession of
anecdotes, his critical idiosyncrasies (“With time
I came to feel Bob le flambeur was overrated”)
never stray far from the affectionate. He offers
an extended defence of Marcel Carné – “The only
director incapable of writing a scene. And yet the
films exist, and some of them are masterpieces.”
Tavernier’s own thrill in the sense of discovery
is channeled through technical know-how, his
evangelism for “the prince of fringe directors,”
Edmond T Gréville, say, guaranteeing a bee-line
made for his little-known, “staggeringly bold studies
of sexual impotence.” Menaces from 1938, starring a
masked, crippled Eric von Stroheim, can only take
the top-spot on countless to-see lists as a result.
If the film is by no means comprehensive, one
can take comfort in the promise in the credits of
a second part to come. On the evidence of this
essential hymn to filmmaking and cinephilia, it
can’t come soon enough. MATT THRIFT
 The Limehouse Golem
W
Directed by e hear the murmurings of an audience,
JUAN CARLOS MEDINA then we see curtains open, and actor Dan
Starring Leno (Douglas Booth) appears on the
BILL NIGHY stage, dressed as a woman and promising to begin
OLIVIA COOKE at the end. What follows is a cinematic rendition of
DOUGLAS BOOTH something like the play’s content: Elizabeth (Olivia
Released Cooke), a former actress, discovers her husband,
1 SEPTEMBER the playwright John Cree (Sam Reid), dead in
his bed, and is placed on trial for his poisoning,
with the threat of the gallows hanging over her.
Yet what is important here is those first sights and
sounds, framing everything that follows as part of a
spectacle for an audience (which it is). For, adapted
by Jane Goldman from Peter Ackroyd’s 2012 novel
‘Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem’, this film is a
bravura music-hall gothic, with all of 1880s London
ANTICIPATION. its theatricalised stage.
We loved director Juan Carlos Closeted Inspector John Kildare (Bill Nighy) is
Medina’s previous film Painless. set up by his superior, in what is a piece of political
theatre, to fail in investigating the latest grisly human
tableau left by the serial killer dubbed, indeed self-
dubbed, ‘the Golem’. He finds in the British Library a
handwritten diary/confession which could only have
ENJOYMENT. been penned by one of the four men who had visited
Low society, high the reading room at that time: John Cree, Karl Marx
gothic, mid orgasm. (Henry Goodman), scholar George Gissing (Morgan
Watkins) and self-made actor/impresario Dan Leno.
Connecting this case to Elizabeth, Kildare sets about
proving her innocence, even as Elizabeth’s own life
story – of abuse, neglect, exploitation and eventual
IN RETROSPECT. celebrity on the boards – also turns out to be the
Twisty theatrical vision of subject of the late John’s failed play Misery Junction,
Victorian vice and injustice. in which Elizabeth would star as herself.
Told in a series of interlocking flashbacks that
form a mosaic of both Elizabeth’s troubled past and
of London’s rich underbelly, and presenting its own
grisly precursor to Jack the Ripper, The Limehouse
Golem is a whodunnit that carves up Victorian society
to both comic and tragic effect. And like any good
pantomime, it comes with enough variety to please
everyone in the audience. As its Grand Guignol and
penny dreadfulness unfold in the dockyards, back
alleys, gin houses and opium dens of a corrupted
capital baying for blood (and that enjoys a good show),
the film’s commitment to anatomising a marginalised
demimonde oppressed either for its class, ethnicity,
gender or sexuality might almost earn it the label of
Marxist. The presence of Marx himself as a character,
representing both persecuted Jewry and the
proletariat, ensures that there is a solid ideological
scaffold from which to hang the film’s social concern
with the overlooked underclass. Even Elizabeth
herself is regarded as doubly tainted, being of low birth
and merely a woman. Her mistreatment by so many
lies at the heart of the film.
Director Juan Carlos Medina (resonsible for
2012’s Painless) mounts an onscreen drama in which
marriages are sham, murders are stage-managed,
and only myths and legends are realised. By the
time the end of this twisty, topsy-turvy narrative has
caught up with its beginning in a world of illusions
and performances, nothing seems the same any
more, all roles have been reversed, and the script
has been rewritten several times to centre, elevate
and immortalise the Victorian age’s bit players.
ANTON BITEL
REVIEWS 081
 Victoria & Abdul
D
Directed by uring the last 15 years of her life Queen
STEPHEN FREARS Victoria found companionship with an
Starring Indian servant named Abdul Karim. He
JUDI DENCH caught her eye at the Golden Jubilee celebrations of
ALI FAZAL 1887, cutting an appealing figure in court and making
EDDIE IZZARD her all a-quiver when he kissed her feet in admiration.
Released The Queen nicknamed Abdul her Munshi (a Persian
15 SEPTEMBER term for secretary), and as their relationship
developed, the pair spent many hours together
writing in journals and learning one another’s native
tongue. His photo hung just below that of another
faithful servent, John Brown, and though he was held
in high esteem by the Queen, lavished with various
awards and honours, her household continually tried
ANTICIPATION. to discredit him.
Sounds fascinating but could Their fascinating and tender relationship is
be condescending. captured with charm and humour in this lovely new
feature. Director Stephen Frears and screenwriter
Lee Hall blend the bureaucratic hysteria of political
sitcom The Thick of It with the light-heartedness and
sentiment of films such as Philomena or the Mumbai-
ENJOYMENT. set romcom, The Lunchbox. Judi Dench reprises
How Queen Victoria her role as Queen Victoria (one she last played in
got her groove back! Mrs Brown some 20 years ago) and Ali Fazal’s eyes
twinkle with the milk of human kindness as her loyal
confidante. The filmmakers note that, even though
this is based on a true story and adapted from a book
written by Shrabani Basu, they do take some artistic
IN RETROSPECT. license with the telling.
Laughs and melancholy The film doesn’t sugarcoat the physical condition
aplenty but the relationship of the Queen in her later years – the viewer witnesses
between Victoria and Abdul her squishy, still snoring body being rolled out of bed
is over romanticised. by her staff ahead of a strict regime of responsibilities
082 REVIEWS
and official meetings. In the early stages of the
film, Dench plays her as a commanding woman on
autopilot, still grieving at the death of her husband
and the relationship with John Brown still weighing
heavily on her mind. She’s almost grey in appearance.
Yet the Queen’s friendship with the Munshi
flourishes and Dench builds a mischievous, sparkly
warmth and scathing wit into her Victoria.
Surrounded by a phalanx of arrogant offspring
and toadying staffers, the Queen’s unhappiness is
eased by the presence of her Munshi. Eddie Izzard
plays Bertie, Prince of Wales, as a spoiled, jealous
child who is hungry for power. The household’s
opulent feasts, ingrained snobbery and openly
racist attitudes are cruel, and are paraded as such.
No one gets off lightly, as even Victoria’s more
frilly behaviour is called out during a singing
session with Giacomo Puccini (Simon Callow) and
Abdul’s ambition and love for British culture takes
precedence over his Indian heritage.
The loneliness of later life and the depression it
brings with it, as explored recently in Bill Condon’s
Mr Holmes, is touched upon but there is an air of
pomposity when Victoria confides to Abdul, “We
are all prisoners.” It’s fair to examine how Victoria’s
standing in life left her feeling isolated but it’s a naïve
leap too far to compare the life of impoverished
men forced to leave their homeland and work for
the Empress of India to her privileged lifestyle. For
the most part, though, Frears and co. poke fun at
the monarchy and do a decent job at presenting the
complex relationship between India and England.
KATHERINE MCLAUGHLIN
 Breathe
I
Directed by t’s poetic that someone like the great Andy
ANDY SERKIS Serkis would make such a sensitive and
Starring unsentimental film about human paralysis,
ANDREW GARFIELD considering that much of his professional career has
CLAIRE FOY been driven by understanding the impulse behind
TOM HOLLANDER how and why people (and animals) move their
Released bodies. In the 2010 film Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll
27 OCTOBER he played avuncular punk idol Ian Dury, a figure who
was partially disabled by polio but who rebelliously
cultivated career and family regardless. With Breathe
he shifts behind the camera, but his experience and
knowledge of the virus and its effects are palpable.
Heartbreaking, even.
This doleful, three-hankie weepie tells of one
ANTICIPATION. Robin Cavendish, chipper tea trader and full-bore
Everything about this posh knob who, at the end of the 1950s, contracts polio
screams awards bait. while in Africa and is left paralysed from the neck
down. His life hangs by the thread of an omnipresent
respirator whose comforting oscillations become the
constant soundtrack to his continued existence. At
first he wants to die because society, technology and
ENJOYMENT. capitalism have no place for those in his condition.
Melodrama done properly, He is wracked with torment and sees no future for
powered by a pair of himself. His doting wife Diana sees otherwise, and
outstanding performances. dedicates her days to extending and improving
Robin’s apparently hopeless situation.
Yes, it doesn’t read like much more than a
conventional disease-of-the-week movie where an
irrepressible will to survive (plus an infinite stock
IN RETROSPECT. of human empathy) lays low the misfortunes of a
The start of an exciting crushing ailment. And Serkis accepts this formula, to
new chapter in the career a degree. Yet Breathe succumbs to few of the mawkish
of Andy Serkis. pitfalls of this dubious sub-genre, mainly down to the
fact that everything on screen feels precisely judged
and carefully weighted. Andrew Garfield offers
further evidence that he may be the UK’s greatest
young actor, channelling Robin’s morbidly wry
outlook without ever tipping over into cod insincerity
and arrogance. Claire Foy, meanwhile, delvers an
extraordinary, piercingly subtle turn as unflappable
spouse Diana. She embodies this paragon of humane
compassion down to the last follicle, never making
it feel too obvious that her eternal pluck is a mere
smokescreen for more doom-laden feelings. The
darkness and light exist within her simultaneously,
and they are visible whenever she is in the frame. It’s
a remarkable feat of subtle, candid expression.
But it’s not just the performances keeping this
ship afloat. As a debut director, Serkis presents
himself as a filmmaker who searches for the one
thing that matters in every scene. He maintains
an awareness of everyone and everything in a
room or location, generating an atmosphere that’s
lived-in rather than cold and artificial. And it’s
not just a procession of longing glances and warm
banter: one brilliantly handled, clock-ticking
suspense sequence sees the family dog nudge the
respirator plug out of the wall while Diana tends
to their toddler, Jonathan. It does lose some steam
when it moves away from the intimate husband-
wife dynamic to fill out more mundane (albeit
important) biographical matters. And the score by
Nitin Sawhney is seven flavours of gloopy syrup.
Otherwise, this is a well-oiled and finely-calibrated
machine. Hold on to your flat-caps come award
season. DAVID JENKINS
REVIEWS 083
IN CONVERSATION…
Andy Serkis
The master of motion capture discusses his inspirational
directorial debut, Breathe – a love story about polio.
I
n his most high profile movie roles, actor Andy Serkis is usually seen
hiding underneath a pristine digital veil, maybe playing Golum in the
Lord of the Rings movies, or King Kong, or more recently, enlightened
ape Caesar in War for the Planet of the Apes. You don’t get to see him in
Breathe either, but this time it’s because he’s behind the camera, directing
the story of polio sufferer-turned-disability activist, Robin Cavendish
(Andrew Garfield), and his eminently stoical wife, Diana (Claire Foy). We
spoke to the actor about his auspicious and surprising debut feature.
LWLies: How did you first hear the story of Robin Cavendish? Serkis:
Well it’s quite an extraordinary tale really. Jonathan Cavendish is my
producing partner and fellow founder of the Imaginarium studios. Robin
was his dad. So, it’s a very personal tale. Not only that, Diana – Johnathan’s
mother – has actually become very close friends with me and my wife
because we inadvertently bought a barn out in Oxfordshire, in the same
village that this entire story took place. So, it’s a rather extraordinary set
of coincidences.
Why did he choose William Nicholson to write this very personal story?
Jonathan has been wanting to make this film for about ten years or so, and
before we got together and set the Imaginarium up, he was working with Bill
Nicholson on, I believe it was Elizabeth: The Golden Age. He had plans to make
this film and he was looking for a writer. He went to see Shadowlands in the
theatre, and then he realised it was Bill who had written it. He said, ‘if ever I
get to make this film I want the person who wrote Shadowlands to write the
screenplay’. So he took Bill out for lunch and the story goes that he said, ‘Look
I’ll tell you the story and see if it interests you’. Apparently Bill loaded up a
forkful of food and went to put it in his mouth and it never got there. So Bill said,
‘Okay, I really want to write this, but I’ll write it on one condition: that you don’t
pay me for it and we just make it ourselves and then we can control it.’
And so how did you find your way into the director’s chair? Jonathan and
I had started working on a screen version of Animal Farm and I said,
‘Look, I really would like to make this’. He just said, ‘absolutely, let’s
do it.’ We’d set the Imaginarium up as I’d just come back from directing
the second unit on The Hobbit for 200 days, which was sort of my
directorial learning curve, really. We were out in South Africa on recce
for Breathe when we found out that I was going to be directing Jungle
Book, so we sort of put Breathe to one side. We decided that it’d be really
very good for us, the Imaginarium, and for myself as a director to take
on Jungle Book, and then we’d return to Breathe afterwards.
Interview by DAVID JENKINS I l l us t rat io n by SARAH TANAT JONES
And yet Breathe has been completed first. We shot Jungle Book, and
then for lots and lots of reasons – post-production being extended and so
forth – there was a hiatus, and obviously the Disney movie was happening,
so we decided that we’d go and speed into Breathe. What happened was we
ramped up very quickly, Andrew Garfield and Claire Foy came on board, it
sort of all fell into place in a matter of weeks.
The spectre of death hangs over the entire film – was that a tough
concept to capture? What I really loved about the story was that it’s about
pioneering souls. A man takes a chance and lives life to the full, but he
is always two minutes away from death. He created a life outside of the
hospital system and no one had ever done that.
Although it does focus on Robin and Diana, it’s very much a celebration
of the group dynamic. I pushed that aspect because it reminded me of the
film Man on Wire, with the cabal of people who surrounded Philippe Petit
to spring a wire between the Twin Towers. It was like their lives became
completely validated by this act. From talking to Diana Cavendish and
all the family, it seemed like they were doing this for Robin. They were
pulling off something incredibly daring, risky and Heath Robinsonian, put
together with nuts and bolts to enable this man to become a “responaut”,
which is what all people were called who lived outside of hospital.
In Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll you played Ian Dury who suffered with
Polio in his younger life – was there any kind of overlap there? Well it’s
interesting you should say that, because when I read the script it didn’t
actually occur to me, but of course looking back the polio connection is
obvious. I did have an understanding of that world and that period, and
specifically how polio was dealt with during the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. So
yes, there definitely was a connection there. I’ve sort of grown up with
disability in that sense. My Mum taught lots of children with polio and
spina bifida. And also my sister contracted MS about 15 years ago.
I just think to myself now, people have a tough time getting around if
they’re wheelchair bound in 2017 – how on earth did these people manage
to survive outside of the hospital when they were kept there, incarcerated,
away from public view and were not considered equal members of
society? And when we talk about disabled rights now, we still have a
way to go obviously, but things changed radically in those years. So all of
those aspects were what interested me about the film, as well as it being a
beautiful love story, which it is. It’s an incredible story of true love. And I
mean really, truly, true love
INTERVIEW 085
 The Lure
Directed by TOMAS LEACH
Released 8 SEPTEMBER
eople like adventure. They like to be part of the mystery of the
“P unknown.” Hidden within art dealer and author Forrest Fenn’s
novel, ‘The Thrill of the Chase’ is a short poem purportedly leading to
a treasure buried somewhere in the American Southwest, each of its
nine stanzas offering a separate cryptic clue. Tomas Leach’s The Lure
explores the varying psychological drives that compel thousands to
obsessively search for this haul, as well as delving into the motivations
of their ringleader, Fenn, a masterful creator of myth and mystery and a
gift of a documentary subject.
In between hunks of context provided by interspersed news segments
and suitably enigmatic statements from Fenn, Leach layers beautiful
landscape cinematography over his conversations with the hunters.
Transforming what could be a rudimentary talking heads documentary
into something a little more cinematic, the visuals convey a sense of the
spectacular terrain that initially draws the searchers to this quixotic
pursuit, while his interviews probe further into their psyches to find
what fuels them to keep coming back. Leach’s conclusion is too obvious.
What connects those struck by “gold fever” is not really the contents of
the chest but the sense of purpose the search provides. These lost souls
are all looking to fill a particular void.
The Lure lacks focus and the testimonies can be ambling, yet there
is something quietly tragic about the film, not just in the obsessive
conviction of looking for something that may not even exist, but also
in the cult of personality that exists around Forrest Fenn. His claimed
obsession with storytelling seems to be a cover for a more primal desire
for fame and legacy, and ultimately for control. When asked why he buried
the treasure, he says: “I’m the only person in the world who knows where
it is. That’s powerful.” MATT TURNER
ANTICIPATION. Tomas Leach made a feature doc about
Saul Leiter and some decent shorts, but nothing major.
ENJOYMENT.
Eccentric characters, beautiful scenery.
IN RETROSPECT. Visuals good, subject compelling but
conclusions a little simplistic.
086 REVIEWS
The Villainess
Directed by JUNG BYUNG-GIL
Starring KIM OK-BIN, SHIN HA-KYUN, SUNG-JOON
Released 15 SEPTEMBER
he price of freedom is staggeringly high in Jung Byung-Gil’s
T enjoyable action thriller The Villainess, as an elite killer trained
since childhood and who later serves Korea’s Intelligence Agency has to
fight for life and liberty. The film’s opening scene – which is partly filmed
first-person POV – introduces Sook-hee (Kim Ok-bin) who, during a
ferocious fight sequence, defeats a large crowd of armed men. This offers
a direct and bloody precursor of things to come, as well as cementing our
heroine’s badass credentials.
Sook-hee is arrested and handed to the nefarious Intelligence Agency
where she is forced to hone her killer craft alongside other trained
assassins. But she still desperately wants out, and so takes us on a tour of
this high security, high spec stockade during her latest (abortive) escape
attempt. Flashbacks to an idylic past add to the film’s intensity and flesh
out Sook-hee’s dramatic backstory. These interludes can be repetitive at
times, but they have a tempering effect: the more hushed, sentimental
scenes with her new family are essential to catch the breath between the
bouts of mayhem.
One highlight sees Sook-hee, dressed in a wedding gown, completing
a new mission in the venue’s rest rooms and missing the target, a man
who reminds her of past love Joong-sang (Shin Ha-kyun). This surprising
romantic sub-plot appears like an interesting new twist, but it isn’t.
Instead it feels hurried and more like a cheap device, leaving details
overlooked and leading to an inevitable and upsetting climax.
Still, it’s the amazing fights and precisely-executed choreography
which make up for the shaky storytelling: whether it is a battle with
swords, a night motorbike chase or an axe clash in a bus pelting at full
speed, there are undoubtably great moments here. As a whole, though, it
doesn’t work quite so well. CLAIRE LANGLAIS
ANTICIPATION. South Korea combines
femme-assassin antics with long game revenge.
ENJOYMENT. Some great scenes and we’re
made to root for Sook-hee’s happiness.
IN RETROSPECT. Plot logic is swept aside in favour
of big action set pieces,
 Menashe
Directed by JOSHUA Z WEINSTEIN
Starring MENASHE LUSTIG, YOEL FALKOWITZ,
RUBEN NIBORSKI
Released 3 NOVEMBER
ancy a rare, Yiddish-language venture into the hermetic world
F of New York’s Hasidic community? This fiction feature debut of
documentary filmmaker Joshua Z Weinstein is a tender character study
less interested in questions of politics or ideological scrutiny than in
offering a nuanced portrait of its singular cultural milieu. Weinstein’s
simple approach is seen in the film’s opening shots, singling-out his
eponymous protagonist (Menashe Lustig) from the outskirts of Borough
Park’s crowded melting-pot. With his lackadaisical approach to the
formalities of attire, Menashe’s role as black sheep within the community
is apparent before he even opens his mouth.  Actress Véro Tshanda Beya Mputu is a near-constant presence as
Menashe is struggling with the constrictive impositions of orthodoxy.
Not that he – nor Weinstein – show any inclination towards wider
questions of modernisation; Menashe just wants to be left to get on
with things on his own terms. Recently bereaved, and with his son being
cared for by his late wife’s implacable brother while he struggles to hold
down a convenience store job, Menashe’s attempts to regain custody as
a single father are out of the question. As he half-heartedly goes through
the motions – at work, on an excruciating date – this loving and well-
meaning but all too fallible father slowly edges towards compromise
and responsibility.
Weinstein lays out the endless cycles of social and cultural ritual
with a documentarian’s eye for detail. The close, handheld camera
illustrates Menashe’s increasing lack of breathing room as it passively
negotiates the cramped apartments and claustrophobically populated
frames. If there are some narrative contrivances they’re minor quibbles
in a film as sensitively performed as it is directed. With such remarkable
access gained to a notoriously closed-off community, it’s a worthy
addition to the ranks of New York stories rarely seen or told. MATT THRIFT
ANTICIPATION. A rare glimpse at life
inside New York’s Hasidic community.
ENJOYMENT. A sensitive, nuanced portrait of a
man’s struggle to regain custody of his son.
IN RETROSPECT. Deceptively slight, Weinstein
documentary background pays dividends in his fiction debut.
Félicité
Directed by ALAIN GOMIS
Starring VÉRO TSHANDA BEYA MPUTU, GAETAN CLAUDIA,
PAPI MPAKA
Released 20 OCTOBER
espite the emphasis of the film’s title, the true star of Félicité is the
D city of Kinshasa, capital of the Democratic Rebublic of Congo. This
is not merely the story of a woman’s struggle against poverty and tragedy,
but a chronicle of her hometown, and director Alain Gomis has crafted
a vivid depiction of life in the central African megacity. Throughout the
film, the director adopts a wholly realistic aesthetic; this is a world of
broken refrigerators, television soap operas and lively street bars. It’s an
immersive environment which lives and breathes as convincingly as the
human characters.
the eponymous star, and the camera follows her with a loving closeness.
Often, background details fall away as she fills the shallow focus of the
frame, her single-minded determination overcoming all else as she
attempts to make money for her son’s vital operation. This is just one way
in which the cinematic canvass is put to its fullest use by Céline Bozon’s
buoyant cinematography, which never slips into the televisual despite
the film’s naturalistic style.
Unfortunately, the film loses some of its urgency as it passes the half
way mark and shifts into a languorous third act. The script makes an
admirable effort to strike a more pensive tone, but it fails to build on the
emotional resonance of earlier sequences. As such, the editing loses its taut
structure and some sluggish scenes outstay their welcome. And yet, the
film thankfully finds its feet again with a tender denouement. Uncovering
the realities of urban life in modern central Africa, in both its joys and its
sorrows, Félicité pays tribute to the warmth and determination of a people
in a rapidly developing society. Despite the harrowing events depicted,
this is a film with a clear affection for its subject. The results are often
unsavoury, always exciting, and ultimately irresistible. MARK ALLISON
ANTICIPATION. Director Alain Gomis’ fourth feature won
the Grand Jury Prix at the Berlin International Film Festival.
ENJOYMENT. An overlong but powerful depiction
of life, love, and loss in the city of Kinshasa.
IN RETROSPECT. This emotionally affecting story
distinguishes itself with a well-realised sense of place.
REVIEWS 087
 The Road to Mandalay
Directed by MIDI Z
Starring WU KE-XI, KO CHEN-TUNG, KAI KO
Released 29 SEPTEMBER
llegal Burmese immigrant Lianqing (Wu Kei Xi) has crossed the
I border into Bangkok in search of freedom and opportunity. Instead,
she is met with unemployability, desperation and loneliness, her fate
seemingly futureless. Directed by Midi Z, whose oeuvre expands from
features (Poison Ivy) to documentaries (City of Jade), Road to Mandalay
is an honest depiction of the wearisome struggles of immigration, laced
with surrealist thought.
Characters are trapped in repetitive routines, eating noodles,
labouring in factories and kitchens, before returning to cramped living
conditions and shared beds. Matching this stasis is Tom Fan’s camera that
rarely leaves the master shot, limiting movement within a singular frame,
and placing the viewer as a motionless bystander. Authentic dialogue
heightens this naturalism, and reads as though taken straight from the
home of Burmese immigrants.
In contrast to the stillness, discolouring rooms and pale green
landscapes, is the whip speed of the city and its vibrant flashes of yellow
lights and twinkling skyscrapers. The disparity works to underline a glaring
class divide and how far reaching our protagonist’s dreams for betterment
are. Flirtations with prostitution appear to be her only way forward and it’s
at these moments of utmost psychological dread that the film’s most surreal
scenes come out to play.
On the backdrop we have a slow-burning romance between Lianqing
and Guo (Ko Chen-tung), a man whom she meets crossing the border.
Endearing and humble, Ko Cheng-tung‘s performance has us rooting for
Guo as he seeks to do what he can to help. Their intimacy goes no further
than a brush of hands, and words are often left unspoken, leaving their
dependency on one another in a state of unnerving ambiguity, unknowingly
on the edge of danger. COURTENEY TAN
ANTICIPATION. A Thai arthouse offering makes its
way to the UK.
.
ENJOYMENT. There’s a calming yet suspenseful rhythm to
watching characters with an ongoing fear of deportation.
IN RETROSPECT. A layered film that demands discussion
and analysis from its viewers.
London Symphony
Directed by ALEX BARRETT
Released 3 SEPTEMBER
he “symphony” film is a form which harks back to cinema’s earliest
T days. These convulsive visual collages offered portraits of cities or
landscapes, and often arrived with suitably dynamic orchestral scores.
Filmmaker Alex Barrett has decided to exhume this obscure mode for a new
generation. Crucially, he has attempted to recapture exactly what made
these films great in the first place rather than souping-up the template for
modern eyes.
London Symphony attempts to emulate the experience of watching a
movie from the silent era, and it works to achieve that aim by presenting
its images in crisp monochrome. The film is split into four segments, each
of which covers a broad aspect of cultural life in the capital. Initially, the
editing appears random, as if we’re watching a photo slideshow of dismal
cityscapes, but then a subtle through-line emerges. Barrett daisy-chains
from one subject to the next sometimes through literal links (shots of paper
rubbish on the street connect to a newspaper print shop) but sometimes
just through the formation of the visuals.
As with early classics like Dziga Vertov’s The Man With a Movie
Camera or Walther Ruttmann’s Berlin: Symphony of a Great City, Barrett
too subtly meddles with the boundary between documentary and fiction.
There’s an element of scripted reality to a couple of moments involving
people captured reading on the Underground or relaxing in a park.
James McWilliam’s superb score tips a hat to the churning, looping likes
of Michael Nyman and Philip Glass and lends the film a driving sense of
momentum. There’s a chapter which focuses on the more commercial
aspect of the capital which is less interesting, while sub-culture, nightlife
and diversity (London’s alternative scene) don’t get much of a look in. But,
as it promises in an opening inter-title, this is very much a film with one eye
on the past and the other on the future. DAVID JENKINS
ANTICIPATION.
London gets ready for its close-up.
ENJOYMENT. A rapturous, compelling and
inventive snapshot of the British capital.
IN RETROSPECT. Small issues aside, Barrett has
pulled off a bold experiment.
 blood diner
blu-ray mickey one
out now dual format edition
ronin out now
blu-ray
out now

the reckoning
castle dual format edition
keep out now
dual format the national
edition health
out now dual format edition
out now

return of the
living dead 3
blu-ray
out now

waxwork the 5000

blu-ray fingers of dr.t
out now dual format edition
out now

star
crash
dual format
edition
out now

fopp stores
bristol college green
the deadly affair c.h.u.d. 2: cambridge sidney st
dual format edition bud the chud
out now blu-ray edinburgh rose st
out now glasgow union st & byres rd
london covent garden
manchester brown st
nottingham broadmarsh
shopping centre
oxford gloucester green
 Carnival of Souls
Directed by 1962
HERK HARVEY
Starring Released 23 OCT
CANDACE HILLIGOSS
FRANCES FEIST
SIDNEY BERGER Blu-ray
he annals of horror history seem to point to George A Romero’s
T seminal 1968 zombie tear-up Night of the Living Dead as heralding
a new dawn of serious, socially-engaged screen shockers. Back in good ol’
1962, veteran of the “industrial” filmmaking circuit, Herk Harvey, took
a two week holiday and returned with the sui generis classic, Carnival of
Souls, in the can. And if it looked like a quirky, shot-on-the-lam melée of
spooky arcana back then, it certainly doesn’t now. In fact, it’s a film that
seems to have more in common with the European school of modernist
alienation – directors like Michelangelo Antonioni or Alain Resnais – than
it does Hollywood’s trove of gothically inclined monster movies.
The film starts in the greatest way imaginable: an ad hoc rural drag
race that results in multiple deaths. Demur church organist Mary
(Candace Hilligoss) miraculously survives the wreckage and heads into
the depths of rural Utah to take up a job tinkling the ivories for The Lord
– even though she’s a non-believer. A mysterious pavilion sitting off the
highway seems to be summoning her, as does a ghostly effigy of a panda-
eyed gent with slicked back hair. With maximum economy, Harvey wrings
out a series of visually dazzling set pieces as Mary appears to be beset
on all sides by macabre happenings. This crisp restoration version from
Criterion offers a vital upgrade from the scuzzy public domain options
of yore, and really gives the feeling that the film straddles both high and
low cultural castes. Though much of her performance revolves around
running and screaming, the ice-blond Hilligoss (whose screen career
sadly never took off ) is a dead ringer for Monica Vitti, a glamourous detail
etched against the vast barren, landscapes of Antonioni’s Red Desert.
DAVID JENKINS
090 REVIEWS
Eight Hours Don’t Make a Day
Directed by 1972
RAINER WERNER FASSBINDER
Starring OUT NOW
GOTTFRIED JOHN
HANNA SCHYGULLA
LUISE ULLRICH Blu-ray
reat yourself to what will surely be one of the great home
T entertainment rediscoveries of 2017 – a brand new restoration
of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s little-seen 1973 “family serial” which,
miraculously, stands tall alongside much of the director’s other iconic film
work. This five-part opus is fast paced and devilishly funny, accompanying
us into the lives of an extended working class Cologne family and then
monitoring their daily toils and triumphs. At the centre is Gottfried
John’s tenacious machinist Jochen, who comes into his own on the
factory floor and is always looking for ways to improve the lot of himself
and his co-workers. His clashes with the management are moments of
high drama, and the fallout is then raked over in the company showers.
His grandmother (‘Oma’, played by Luise Ullrich) meanwhile strives to
rekindle a sense of youthful fun in her twilight years, hooking up with a
new man, renting an apartment and even attempting to open a creche.
The film plays like a sprawling, artful soap opera, flitting between
plot strands with the utmost ease and presenting characters who throb
with compassion. Even the antagonists, like Kurt Raab’s conservative
patriarch, is allowed to have a heart beating in his chest. The simple
idea which ties everything together is the question of how people make
decisions and then execute those decisions. It doesn’t dwell so much
on the emotions, but is more interested in the communication and the
rationale. And, as a bonus, you get to witness a scene in which Fassbinder
muse Hannah Schygulla engages in a conversation with Jochen’s sister
while scoffing down cinema’s most gigantic bratwurst. This vital set from
Arrow Films marks the first official release of the show, and arrives with
the usual panoply of minutely researched extras. DAVID JENKINS
 Paradise Alley
Directed by 1978
SYLVERSTER STALLONE
Starring Released 4 SEPT
SYLVERSTER STALLONE
LEE CANALITO
ARMAND ASSANTE Blu-ray
ere’s a quiz question for you: what did Sylvester Stallone do after being
H catapulted to fame on the back of 1976’s Rocky, but before he took
the director’s chair for Rocky II in 1979? The answer is, he wrote, directed
and starred-in 1978’s bizarre, rambling wiseguy comedy, Paradise Alley. It
follows three brothers as they duck and dive their way through the grubby
streets of New York’s Hell’s Kitchen in 1946. By strange quirk, one of the
brothers is a monosyllabic, emotionally retarded prize fighter, but he is
played by human hulk Lee Canalito rather than Stallone himself. Sly instead
gives himself the role of Cosmo, the fast-talking huckster with the golden
loop earring, barrow-boy cap and a glint in his eye who gets all the good lines,
all the fine women and is front and centre in all the big emotional sub-plots.
He even gets to croon the main theme over the opening credits, a horrendous
jazzy caterwaul which doesn’t bode well for the ensuing mayhem.
All told, the film is scrappy and shrill, but Stallone certainly does have
an ear for street lingo and era-specific slang. And, perhaps more impressive,
he manages to couch this dialogue in settings that feel authentic enough for
it not to sound artificial or corny. The loose story follow’s Cosmo’s rivalry
with Kevin Conway’s Stitch and takes in the underground bare-knuckle
boxing circuit, with each party attempting to stiff money out of the other.
It makes for a fascinating piece of early Stalloniana, particularly its interest
in the small man pulling himself to the top by hook or by crook. There’s
also a moving sequence involving over-the-hill pugilist Big Glory (Frank
McRae) as he weighs up the value of his life now that his days in the ring are
numbered, if not over. Throw some slapstick involving a pet monkey and
Tom Waits into the mix, and you’ve got yourself a potent (if not altogether
palatable) carafe of movie-flavoured cocktail. DAVID JENKINS
Life is Sweet
Directed by 199 0
MIKE LEIGH
Starring Released 18 SEPT
JANE HORROCKS
ALISON STEADMAN
TIMOTHY SPALL Blu-ray
erve up a nice hearty plate of liver in lager, and perhaps a side-dish
S of tripe soufflé or pork cyst, and witness once more Mike Leigh’s
grimy, serio-comic fresco of early ’90s working class upward mobility.
These inedible dishes are found on the menu of The Regret Rien, a new
fine dining venture by Timothy Spall’s pseudo-spiv, Aubrey, who attempts
to second guess the adventurous palettes of monied north Londoners and
fails spectacularly. The title Life is Sweet is ironic, as the characters here are
all trapped by status, by poverty, by health, by lack of education. But their
happiness is never fully quashed by these dire straights. The film is a gentle
celebration of family and friendship, and the way that conversation and
confession are the best way to sooth the ills of existence. The main focus
is on the Wendy (Alison Steadman) and Andy (Jim Broadbent) – her the
chipper matriarch who snags a waitress job at the doomed Regret Rien, him
a self-starting chef who’s decides to buy a clapped out burger van and likes
a relaxing tipple whenever he can get one.
Their daughters are Nicola (Jane Horracks), a cranky anorexic who
treats her condition with glib abandon, and Natalie (Claire Skinner) the
only family member with her head fully screwed on. In 1988’s High Hopes,
Leigh overdid it with the grotesque caricatures, but with this one he gets
the levels just right. As usual for the director, the performances are amped
up for comic effect, with Spall in particular going full-pelt silly with his
oafish Aubrey. Yet this subtle melding of very theatrical, overly-projected
acting and glum kitchen sink social realism somehow works, sprinkling
a certain cinematic fairy dust over the dilapidated terraces of London’s
suburb. This new restoration from the BFI comes loaded with new writing
and extras. DAVID JENKINS
REVIEWS 091
 It’s a Mad Mad
Mad Mad World
Directed by 1963
STANLEY KRAMER
Starring Released 4 SEPT
SPENCER TRACY
MILTON BERLE
ETHEL MERMAN Blu-ray
his is a movie that really shouldn’t work. And further to that, it
T should exist as a quaint museum piece – a bloated, pre-hippy chase
comedy which showcases the lurid excesses of the 1960s. Filmed in Super-
Cinerama at a pitch way beyond fever and bringing together a cast of
thousands, Stanley Kramer’s 1963 film is a maddening folly, but somehow,
feels completely unique. An escaped robber launches his car off a mountain
road. A gaggle of concerned bystanders try to save him, and in the throes
of death, he reveals that $350,000 cash is buried in Santa Rosita Park
underneath “a big W”. Unable to devise an acceptable way to split the loot,
the race is on, as the likes of Milton Berle, Terry-Thomas, Ethel Merman,
Phil Silvers and Mickey Rooney make a mad cross-country dash to claim
the prize. It’s completely ridiculous and shrill, and endemic of a brand of
glossy, anarchic ’60s comedy that’s not actually very funny.
It’s basically an ensemble of ham actors driving a variety of commercial
vehicles (land, air and sea) going “oooh-ooooh-oooh!” for the best part
of three hours and 20 minutes. But there’s still something completely
compelling about how the stories intertwine, and it somehow manages
to emulate the dramatic experience of watching a great sporting event.
The reason it works is that it’s completely unsentimental, and every
single character (bar Spencer Tracy’s straight-arrow cop) is driven by
pure, untarnished greed, to the point where their lives become wholly
expendable. Upon its release, the film was trimmed down at the behest
of producers, and much of the excised footage was badly damaged. This
Criterion edition presents the film as close to its original cut as possible,
occasionally using stills to illustrate scenes where a soundtrack still exists.
DAVID JENKINS
092 REVIEWS
The Big Knife
Directed by 1955
ROBERT ALDRICH
Starring OUT NOW
JACK PALANCE
IDA LUPINO
ROD STEIGER Blu-ray
his rancidly bitter film is about the double-edged sword of having a
T job for life. In this instance, the job happens to be high in the lap of
luxury as a Hollywood matinee idol. But what about when all the canapés
and oil massages and toadying bottom feeders become too much, and
you just want to claw back a tiny sliver of integrity? Robert Aldrich’s
hysterical and claustrophobic screen adaptation of Clifford Odets’s play
sees Jack Palance as Charlie Castle, a fully signed-up studio star who locks
horns with utterly insane studio boss Stanley Hoff (Rod Steiger) when
the former hesitates when agreeing to extend his stifling contract. Hoff
punches out insipid genre dreck, and Charlie wants to switch things up,
not least to earn the respect of his discerning, empathetic wife Marion (Ida
Lupino), who already has one foot out the door.
It’s a synthetic film about a world of make believe, with Steiger
in particular not so much chewing the scenery, as tearing it down
and transforming it into a 12-course banquet. As a way to keep
Charlie in the fold, things get very nasty very quickly, and the sense
of rancour runs deeper than just the catty barbs. In the end, the
corporate machine always wins as the worker ant is crushed in its
giant cogs. Whether Charlie deserves to get crushed is the question
at hand. Is it enough to want to reject the cynicism of mass-produced
trash art, even though you’re a product of that trash? Or, when the
worker attains a measure of power, should the corporate head then
softly nurture the monster he’s created? It’s loud, brash and nasty
to the marrow, and you’d have to be very naive to say that little of
this applies to the Hollywood dream factory as it stands now.
DAVID JENKINS
 Return of the Living Dead 3
Directed by 1993
BRIAN YUZNA
Starring OUT NOW
MELINDA CLARKE
J TREVOR EDMOND
KENT MCCORD Blu-ray
f ever there were a cautionary tale about the advantages of wearing
I a crash helmet while riding a motorcycle, it’s Brian Yuzna’s 1993
revisionist zombie flick, Return of the Living Dead 3. Loved-up Gen-Xers
Julie (Melinda Clarke) and Curt (James T Callahan) are, like, totally bored
of just hanging around roadsides and pouting. They need a thrill to take
their relationship to the next level, and so hop on his hog and high tail it
down to his father’s off-the-grid military science facility. There they watch
from the rafters as corpses are reanimated with the help of the noxious gas
Trioxin. Dashing from the scene, the pair take a tumble (sans helmet!) and
Julie is a-goner. Almost as a knee-jerk reaction, Curt lugs her body back to
the lab and reanimates her corpse – consequences be damned.
Dan O’Bannon’s sublime series opener, Return of the Living Dead,
recalibrated the workhorse saga as a classic farce, while Yuzna opts for
something entirely new – fusing stock zombie mayhem and splatter
with a very sincere gothic melodrama. Clarke is superb as the wannabe
bad girl who evolves into a zombie dominatrix, replete with kinky
fetish-wear and various sadomasochistic accoutrements buried into
her rotting flesh. Borrowing the idea from Romeo and Juliet of lovers
whose connection transcends mortal bounds, a sub-plot involving the
army’s desire to militarise these brain-chomping zombies eventually
makes way for a grand romantic gesture which also stands as a perfect
expression of ’90s emo nihilism. As with films like Society and Bride of
Re-Animator (both from 1989), Yuzna proves himself a filmmaker more
interested in big, bold ideas than plot logic or realism. It’s a fascinating
adjunct to the zombie genre rather than a great film in its own right.
DAVID JENKINS
See No Evil
Directed by 1971
RICHARD FLEISCHER
Starring Released 25 SEPT
MIA FARROW
DOROTHY ALISON
ROBIN BAILEY Blu-ray
n 1971, two films were released by the American director Richard
I Fleischer, both of which present England as a cess pit of violence
and iniquity. First was the symphonically seedy serial killer drama 10
Rillington Place, and later, there was See No Evil, whose centrepiece is a
sequence in which a blind, screaming Mia Farrow tools about in a gigantic
clay pit. The latter has received the deluxe Blu-ray treatment care of the
excellent Indicator label, continuing their project of unearthing and
contextualising under-appreciated B-movie gems. The antagonist in
this garish thriller set in and around Wokingham, Berkshire is a pair
of cowboy boots emblazoned with white stars, and their wicked wearer
isn’t revealed until the final scene.
His sworn enemy, however, is the well-off Rexton clan and their
niece, Sarah (Farrow), who was blinded as the result of a horse-riding
accident and is the type of effete soul who would get blown away in a soft
wind. Fleischer doesn’t dally when it comes to doling out the nastiness,
and blood is spilled with a shocking quickness. The director isn’t really
interested in offering a serious exploration of the experience of blindness,
instead using it to enhance his brutal set pieces and draw out the extent of
punishment levelled on our hapless heroine. While it perhaps falls short
in the empathy and psychology stakes, the film does offer a fascinating
counter view of the quaint English countryside: here it’s envisioned as
a grey-brown hellscape littered with criminals and perverts, all looking
to blame any problems on a local enclave of “Gypos”. It’s by no means
top-tier Fleischer, but it’s an example of a director who cuts to the quick
when it comes to milking a hackneyed gimmick for all its cinematic worth.
DAVID JENKINS
REVIEWS 093
 Insyriated
Directed by PHILIPPE VAN LEEUW
Starring HIAM ABBASS, DIAMAND BOU ABBOUD,
JULIETTE NAVIS
Released 8 SEPTEMBER
magine you had no running water, no electricity, no food and your
I only access to the outside world was guarded by a rooftop sniper.
This is the unfortunate reality for most civilians currently surviving in
Syria and its an environment director Philippe Van Leeuw captures in
tremendous detail in his new political drama Insyriated. Set in a single
apartment in Damascus over the course of a single day, it stars Hiam
Abbass as Oum Yazan, a fierce mother constantly fighting to ensure her
families safety. The film focuses on the strength and determination of
women in a genre often dominated by men. The only male characters are
an elderly gentleman, a young boy and a confused, love-stuck teenager,
none of whom are equipped to protect a whole household.
It’s a haunting portrayal of one family’s fight to survive and
it offers an compelling depiction of domestic life and the impact of
an ever encroaching battleground. Leeuw and cinematographer,
Virginie Surdej turn a short corridor, small rooms and a single
balcony overlooking the carnage into an intensely claustrophobic
atmosphere. The film showcases the physical and emotional conflict
people have to go to just to make it through the day, with the threat
of death a constant. Though there are some moments where the
tension begins to flag, but the film quickly picks up the pace with the
use of a literal explosive soundtrack and a particularly frightening
scene in which two very dangerous intruders make their way into the
apartment. The threat is only moderate until this point, but it reaches
its pinnacle in the final scene as its protagonists venture outside to
save an injured party, despite the sniper threat established earlier
in the narrative. Feeling a little bit more like a documentary than a
work of fiction, Insyriated is a memorable, reformulated war movie.
LOUISE BUSFIELD
ANTICIPATION. A film showcasing what its like to
live with war.
ENJOYMENT. Suspenseful and sometimes
uncomfortable viewing.
IN RETROSPECT. A harrowing watch with an intense
final scene
On the Road
Directed by MICHAEL WINTERBOTTOM
Starring LEAH HARVEY, JAMES MCARDLE,
SHIRLEY HENDERSON
Released 29 SEPTEMBER
ritish director Michael Winterbottom is occasionally referred to
B as an anti-auteur in that he has no recurring stylistic tics and there
are no subject areas towards which he repeatedly gravitates. On the Road
marks his attempt to hit refresh on the time-honoured concert movie,
fusing together an improvised romance between two actors (playing a
roadie and a PR) and documentary tour footage of North London indie
quartet, Alice Wolf. Usually, it’s his smaller, lightly experimental films
which are his most satisfying – the time-lapse family saga of 2012’s
Everyday, his lopsided literary adaptation A Cock and Bull Story, or the
blokey bants of The Trip and its sequels. This one, however, feels DOA
upon arrival. On a very basic level, neither the fictional nor real characters
are even close to being interesting. The wisp of a story is hammered out
over two hours which become incrementally more excruciating. At 30
minutes, you could see this working as an innovative press kit or DVD
extra. But as it stands, you’re left to watch what feels like the same ten
minute segment repeated over and over over. On the evidence of the
throngs of hyperventilating teenie-boppers who chant along to every
lyric from the front row, Alice Wolf certainly have their superfans. But if
you don’t care for their chugging brand of emo-inflected rock, then this
is going to be form of sustained audio torture.
Elsewhere, we have Leah Harvey and James McArdle flashing
tentitive glances at one another, and their soft rapport develops into icky
(and very dull) love patter and, eventually, grinding hotel sex. When the
tour winds to a close, it’s clear that you’re supposed to feel the pangs of
heartbreak as everyone heads off to brighter climes. Frankly, we were
over the moon to be rid of these wet dullards. Props to Winterbottom for
at least trying something new, but this one fails on just about every level.
DAVID JENKINS
ANTICIPATION. A feature-length trawl across
Great Britain with a middling indie band. Okay…
ENJOYMENT. Attempts something a little
different, but runs out of steam very quickly.
IN RETROSPECT. The second hour is unbearably,
almost comically dull.
REVIEWS 095
 TRUTH & MOVIES

Get 6 issues for only £26

with the code LWL71

To subscribe, head to lwlies.imbmsubscriptions.com

Or call us on +44 (0)207 729 3675

*Discount off full subscription cost of £33 for 6 issues.

Delivered over 14 months. Applied at checkout.
'ROOFTOP ARE THE KINGS OF OUTDOOR CINEMA'
TIME OUT

SCREENINGS
AT ALTITUDE
UNTIL THE END
OF SEPTEMBER
EXPERIENCE THE HIGH LIFE
UNDER THE STARS OF LONDON
BOOK YOUR TICKETS NOW
ROOFTOPFILMCLUB.COM
LOVE, PEACE AND GREAT FILM
#ROOFTOPFILMCLUB
I N PA R T N E R S H I P W I T H
Little White Lies
Published by TCO
Little White Lies – Huck - 71a

Words, pictures, thanks... Mark Asch, Abbey Bender, Anton

Bitel, Elena Boils, Adam Lee Davies, Ella Donald, Gregg Evans,
Caroline Golum, Trevor Johnston, Sarah Tanat Jones, Aimee Knight,
Elena Lazic, Manuela Lazic, Michael Leader, Yann Le Bec, James
Luxford, Andrew Male, Katherine McLaughlin, Christina Newland, Nick
Pinkerton, Caitlin Quinlan, Caspar Salmon, Roxanne Sancto, James
Slaymaker, Matt Thrift, Matt Turner, Eve Watling.
Special Thanks: Claire Langlais, Kayte Lawton and Anna Whelan

Editorial Publishing
Editor Publisher
David Jenkins Vince Medeiros
david@tcolondon.com vince@tcolondon.com

Digital Editor Head of Operations

Adam Woodward Taryn Paterson
adam@tcolondon.com taryn@tcolondon.com

Contributing Editor Head of Partnerships

Sophie Monks Kaufman Chris DeHaney
sophie@tcolondon.com chris@tcolondon.com

Social Editor Media Sales

Gabriela Helfet Oliver Slade
gabriela@tcolondon.com oliver.slade@tcolondon.com

Interns Special Projects

Mark Allison Steph Pomphrey
Louise Busfield steph@tcolondon.com
William Carroll
Juliette Cottu Legal
Josh Howey Alex Wade
Tiago Richardson
Courteney Tan General Manager
Wendy Klerck
Art wendy@tcolondon.com
Art Director - LWLies
Laurene Boglio
laurene@tcolondon.com 71A Gallery
Studio Manager
Art Director – Huck Jon Denham
Oliver Stafford jon@tcolondon.com
oliver@tcolondon.com
On the cover
Graphic Designer Luis Mazón Lopez
Simon Hayes
simon.hayes@tcolondon.com The articles appearing in this
publication reflect the opinions of
their respective authors and not
TCO - Agency necessarily those of the publishers
Managing Director or editorial team.
Simon Baker
simon@tcolondon.com TCOLondon 2017 (copyright)

Creative Director Published by

Luke Norton TCO Publishing
luke@tcolondon.com 71a Leonard Street
London EC2A 4QS UK
Editorial Lead +44 (0) 207-729-3675
Michael Fordham tcolondon.com
michael@tcolondon.com info@tcolondon.com

Head of Strategy LWLies is published

D'Arcy Doran 5 times a year
darcy@tcolondon.com
Advertise in LWLies
Head of Production Oliver Slade
Isabel Freeman oliver.slade@tcolondon.com
isabel@tcolondon.com +44 (0) 207-729-3675

Producer Stock LWLies

Zach Sebastian Distributed worldwide by Comag
zach@tcolondon.com Brian Donnelly
brian.donnelly@comag.com
Project Manager +44 (0) 189-543-3684
Helen Jackson
helen@tcolondon.com Printed by Jimenez Godoy

Account Manager Lwlies.com

Louis Tagliaferro
louis@tcolondon.com

Branded Books
Clive Wilson
clive@tcolondon.com
 LWLies:
movies?
at do you love about
Wh
no:
Luca Guadagni
ilding of
k th at I love the bu
I thin make you
so th eir capacity to
imagery. Al you are. An
d
meth ing else from what be
be so so
movie can al
at a great
the idea th the pr actice of
less on in the art and movies.
a about
… Th at’s what I love
utopia
:
Armie Hammer
fell in love
g th at I initially
The th in ptivates
e th in g that still ca
with is th going to th
e
I st ar te d aggressively th e
me. down in
I was living
cinema when reens at
s. Th er e were two sc
nd
Cayman Isla dn’t watch
l ci ne ma so if you di
our lo ca r. If it
e yo u wa tched the othe
one movi you
g on both,
the sa me movie playin coul d
wa s again. I
wa tc he d that movie n,
just the Caribbea
l island in
be on a smal orted to Ma
rs,
I’ m im me di ately transp Th at
yet ever.
e Ti ta nic, or wher
or onto th LQNWKDW
YH Q DW XU HRIºOP¥,WK
WUDQVSRUWL c there.
there’s magi

amet:
Timothée Chal e
movies is th
s wh at I love about P D
I gues WKRXJK,±
HҬHFW(YHQ
WUDQVSRUWLYH en a movie
does
eatre kid at heart, wh eal,
th most surr
cc es sf ully it’s al
that su feel like
cr ed it s role and you
when the ent
. You’ve sp
ve li ved another life
you’ meone.
ere with so
time somewh