Why independent cinemas are the future if you’re a serious movielover

When I first arrived at university in Bath over three years ago, I instantly sourced out the nearest cinemas. Coming from a small village in the Midland’s, where the nearest cinema was a half hour drive away and even then it was only an Odeon, moving to a city was most exciting for me as it meant I might finally get to see a larger variety of films where they are meant to be seen – the cinema. I was presented with an Odeon, a Vue and a Cineworld all closer than the Odeon back home had been to me, and a true gem of a cinema called The Little Theatre. This was my introduction to the world of independent cinema’s, and it was truly an eye opener. The Little Theatre was a gorgeous old building built in the 1930’s and barely changed since then, the only remaining cinema in the country which is still owned by it’s original owners (albeit in a roundabout way – the cinema is now owned by arthouse conglomerate Picturehouse Cinemas but a descendant of the original owner still has a large say in the running of the cinema.)

First things first, the price was considerably lower. For a student ticket, it was about £2.50. Compared to prices at the Odeon which were nearing £10, I couldn’t believe my luck. I started going to the Little at any and every opportunity I could find. Whereas before I had struggled to see anything at the cinema bar blockbusters, now I could see pretty much anything. World cinema was now available at my doorstep. Where large cinema chains fill their screens with blockbusters guaranteed to make money and therefore will always have a guaranteed cashflow, independent cinemas and particularly the Little, have to look for other ways to bring in revenue. They sold memberships, you could pay for a plaque to be put on the back of a cinema seat as a dedication, and it is one of only 3 cinemas in the country which holds a wedding license. Surely a wedding in an original, 1930’s art deco cinema is one of the ultimate film geeks dreams? I know for sure it’s one of mine.

The Little also put on event nights, they would have visiting directors and actors. Juliet Stevenson did a talk after a Truly, Madly, Deeply, Terry Jones attended a screening of The Life Of Brian. The Little almost became like a second home to me, and I lapped up every opportunity it presented me with.

Since finishing university and leaving Bath, I’ve kept up to date with what’s going on at the Little. They’ve had screenings of Metropolis and Psycho, had a silent movie screening accompanied by live piano, and had two outdoor screenings, one of Master and Commander, the other of Wes Anderson’s enchanting Fantastic Mr Fox (which, by the way, features a model version of The Little Theatre itself, a money couldn’t buy accolade). While I now live in Sheffield, which has it’s own independent cinema, its still The Little I find myself craving. Independent cinemas have a way of reconnecting audiences with a love of cinema which is rarely seen nowadays, forging relationships between film-lovers and cinemas themselves.

The difference between an independent cinema and a large chain is, quite simply, that one actually appears to know and care about film, whereas the other is simply interested in showing films which are guaranteed to bring in the big bucks. We need more of these independent cinemas, dedicated to the art of cinema, run by people who love movies for people who love movies.

No Style, No Substance: The Twilight Conundrum

I know it’s fashionable to hate on Twilight. That’s not why I hate it. I hate it because it’s awful. My other half is obsessed with it. For that reason, I have had to part with much hard earned cash (against my better judgement) to buy him the books, the blu-rays, and even the board games. I suppose that shows just how good a boyfriend I am.

My main problem with the films, and the books, is the sheer manipulative nature of them. I struggled through the first book, and realised almost instantly that protagonist Bella, whilst being the main character, is almost entirely devoid of any character. She is a blank slate, waiting for the millions of girls who read the books to transplant themselves into her position. Now, from a writer’s perspective, this is kind of admirable. Stephenie Meyer’s knows exactly how to get her audience. Edward doesn’t fare much better, the kind of preening, self-obsessed and self-loathing sap you’d leave rotting in a basement for all eternity is, inexplicably, the hero of this multi-million selling franchise. Why? Because he’s quite pretty I suppose and has hair that Phil Spector would envy.

I won’t focus too much on the books, seeing as this is a film blog. So let’s move on to the films. Which are equally awful. Given the source material, I never had much hope for them. Safe to say, I wasn’t disappointed. I literally can’t remember what happens in the first film. My main memory from the second is getting motion sickness as the camera swings around Bella for at least five minutes as she bites her lip and runs her hands through her hair at least a hundred times. Apparently, this is Kristen Stewart’s contribution toward the character. She likes to run her hands through her hair. A lot. The third, I was told by my other half, was the big one. This was the one with the big battle. Despite having already nearly lost the will to live after enduring the first two, this raised my hopes for the third a little. It shouldn’t have. Whilst there is a big battle, our protagonists spend the entirety of it hiding on a hill in a tent. What a climax.

I simply do not understand how so many people can get so excited and involved over something so devoid of originality. I adore vampire movies, and this, I’m afraid, is not a vampire movie. Their ‘vampire’ skills are running like crippled deer, and turning into glitter when the sun hits their skin. Now, I’m all for deviating from the vampire standard in order to present us with something new and exciting, but when the reason a vampire can’t walk in the sunlight is because they turn glittery, I take issue. There are many ways around this. Tell whoever asks why you are glittery that you have just taken a bath with a Lush bath bomb. Tell them your girlfriend attacked you with her body glitter. Tell them you just couldn’t leave the house without piling on so much glitter you’d make Ru Paul blush.

The films are pretty much devoid of any and all personality. The characters are pretty one dimensional, and while that may have been bearable for one film, having these characters go through five films and not have any defining characteristics other than human, shape-shifter or vampire, is just bad writing. The cinematography in parts is interesting, but, on the whole, the films just seem lazy. We’re subjected to endless fights in woodland, all of which looks the same. School scenes are in one of two rooms, the cafeteria or the science lab, both of which are grey and lacklustre. If we’re lucky, we get a romantic scene in a field. That’s it. 

Next to nothing happens in these films. I recently watched the trailer for Breaking Dawn Part 1, and for half a minute, it focussed on wedding invitations being handed out. No characters, no dialogue, just WEDDING INVITATIONS. How is that a big draw? I love romance just as much as the next teenage girl, but this takes it to a new level.

The one redeeming feature of the films, I must say, is that they have incredible soundtracks. Bands from far and wide seem eager to put brand new, exclusive songs on the soundtracks to these films. Why, I’ll never know, but I won’t complain. It means I get new material from some of my favourite bands. I don’t need to see the films for that, though. I can just listen to the soundtrack.

Maybe I just don’t get it. Clearly I’m not getting something, because for so many people to love it, it must be doing something right. What that is though, I’m not entirely sure.

Why Kate Winslet is better than you

This week saw one of the weirdest, most brilliant news stories we’ve seen in a while. Richard Branson’s house, on his own private island, burned to the ground. Newsworthy enough in itself. Where the story gets interesting, however, is when we find out that Kate Winslet, her boyfriend and kids were also in the house and had to escape. Where the story gets AWESOME is when we find out that Kate Winslet carried Branson’s 90 year old mother from the burning building. What was Richard Branson doing when all this was happening? Running naked into a cactus.

A few days later we find out that the Branson family pet tortoise that they had feared dead, had in fact survived. This story is just the gift that keeps on giving.

I have long had an affection for Winslet. A homegrown talent who has made it good in Hollywood and yet has refused to change herself, she is the epitome of what an actress should aspire to be. Gracious, elegant and, what I find most important of all, down to earth.  I’ve heard stories of interviewers being disarmed by her completely flagrant disregard for the expectations of how an actress should be. She swears like a trooper, and what I find perhaps most endearing about her, she still smokes roll ups. The womans a millionaire, has an Oscar, and still rolls her own. How can you NOT love her?

With any luck, Winslet will now begin a reality TV show. The cameras would just follow her as she saves geriatrics, builds houses with her bare hands and rescues tortoises by imitating their mating calls. I’m fairly sure she’s capable of all this, and more. Who knows what else she can do?

We’re waiting, Kate…

 

 

My good friend, Nicole Kidman.

Nicole Kidman, an actress who is pretty much guaranteed to get an Oscar nomination every time she remembers to act, is an absolute genius when it comes to picking bad movies to be in. I love her for this. Absolutely adore her.

Now, there are the downright awful films which even I will happily admit are just hideous in every sense of the word, for example Bewitched. Whoever gave the greenlight for that movie is bound to have been on something. And yet I find myself admiring Kidman for agreeing to be in it. Yes, she’s an incredible actress, but she’s not shy of taking on a challenge, especially when that challenge is creating a film so heinous that pretty much everyone on the face of the earth forgets it exists. Sometimes, it seems, Nicole (and I’ll call her Nicole because I feel after being one of the only people to watch some of her films, I deserve to be able to call her my friend, no matter how deluded that may sound), just wants to have a little fun! And what could be more fun than bastardising a sixties TV classic?!

One film Nicole’s been in which I do feel gets a bad rep is Frank Oz’s remake of The Stepford Wives. Oz and Kidman challenged themselves to the max here. How exactly does one remake a film when the entire plot and payoff of the film hinges on a macguffin so huge and unforgettable that the majority of humankind know what it is, whether or not they’ve seen the film? That’s right: invent another, slightly less interesting one! Make Glenn Close an absolutely insane bitch, who, given the option to create a robot husband in the image of ANY MAN SHE WANTS, chooses Christopher Walken. No-one can deny Glenn Close has balls after a decision like that. This is the man, after all, who hid a pocketwatch up his ass. Many, in fact, all critics, universally panned The Stepford Wives, and yet I have to admit to absolutely loving it. Instead of a chilling, body thievery thriller, it becomes a kitsch, campy comedy. This fact, coupled with the inclusion of Bette Midler, pretty much doomed me to love it from the start.

Not long ago, I sat down to watch Rabbit Hole, and, while it was superbly acted, so much so that I pretty much sobbed throughout the entire movie, it was painful to see Nicole’s face simply devoid of emotion. An actors greatest tool is their face – without it, an audience has no idea what they’re feeling inside. Nicole’s face is frozen. There’s no two ways about it – ever since universal flop Australia (another film I not-so-secretly love), Nicole’s face has had all of the emotional resonance of, and a freakish resemblance to, a teaspoon. To cheer myself up afterward, I watched one of my all time favourite Nicole movies, topped only by The Hours and Moulin Rouge. That movie was Practical Magic. This is a film I must have watched about a hundred times since the age of seven. I absolutely adore everything about it, the soundtrack, the sets, the cinematography, to me, it is perfect, and a definite lost treasure. As Nicole appeared on screen, I was taken aback by just how astonishingly beautiful she was. Little of that beauty can be seen in her face anymore, she’s become a plasticine clothes horse. While she’s still a beautiful woman by anyone’s standards, there’s none of that tenacity left in her anymore, none of the fiery Nicole we all once knew and loved. Somewhere, beneath all of the accolades and the Chanel adverts, that woman has disappeared. Nicole’s face should be a lesson to all actors – don’t mess with your face, it’s your greatest asset. And yet SOMEHOW, Kidman still managed to garner a bloody Oscar nomination for the film! That, dear friends, is the power of Nicole. An actress not afraid to take a challenge, especially when that challenge is making a film practically nobody will pay to see, and an actress who can taxidermy herself whilst still alive and still manage to receive widespread applause for acting.

Nicole is not afraid to take on a challenge, and, the majority of the time, it pays off. Who, honestly, would have ever thought that Moulin Rouge would become the gargantuan hit that it did? A modern musical set in bohemian Paris featuring a pissed dwarf, a narcoleptic actor and a fucking huge elephant. Those are not the ingredients of a modern blockbuster, and yet it’s gone down in history as a super smash hit. Nicole built her career up from the very bottom, starring in the hideous BMX Bandits, a Batman movie everyone prefers to forget exists, and not one, but two films with husband Tom Cruise, a surefire way to avoid getting any critical acclaim. And yet, somehow, she managed to win an Oscar, and become one of our most beloved actresses. You’ve gotta give the girl credit where it’s due.

Besides, it’s hard not to love a woman whose response when asked about how her life would be different after divorcing blockbuster behemoth Tom Cruise was ‘Now I can wear heels again!’ God bless ya, Nicole.

Do away with the aliens, Abrams.

Last night I finally sat down to watch Super 8, a film I didn’t have a whole lot of enthusiasm but which I was sure I would enjoy. The film begins, and it’s instantly obvious just how much of an homage to Spielberg the film was going to be. Close Encounters, Jaws, even what I believe was a wink to Jurassic Park 2’s hidey high, this film was full of little nods to the godfather of modern cinema.

The film began with so much promise. The kids cast in the film were superb, with Dakota Fanning’s little sister Elle a particular delight. The interplay between kids is something cinema’s been missing for quite some time; for once, directors have actually found a cast of kids who really can act. Watching the film, it’s difficult not to be reminded of yet another Spielberg production – The Goonies. Super 8 plays like the jacked up, sci-fi big brother of the classic 80’s flick, and it’s all the better for it.

Where the film suffers, however, is when it tries to hard to be a blockbuster. The ‘villain’ of the film (and it’s difficult to say villain when you’re both not scared of it and not interested in it) feels like it’s been tacked on, which is a shame, as it’s clear that there was some effort at giving it some back story, even an attempt at empathy. There is just no presence of fear in the film past the train crash in the first 20 minutes (which is, admittedly, a pretty kick-ass train crash). The climax loses all the momentum the rest of the film gained, with Abrams seemingly desperate to please adrenaline junkies in the audience. He needn’t have; the film would have worked so much better as a character study, a summer in the lives of these kids trying to make their movie as they move awkwardly through puberty. In reality, it seems like Abrams simply had a brainwave of ‘HOW COOL WOULD IT BE TO DO A MASH-UP OF THE GOONIES AND CLOVERFIELD?!’ Yeah, me neither…

Don’t get me wrong, this is by no means a bad movie. It’s fantastic, up until the last act. Characters mentioned in the first act are bought back only to be ripped back out literally seconds later, just to up the fear factor. Abram’s monster looks like the bastard love child of General Grievous and a Cabbage Patch Kid, a sight which is in no way even remotely scary.

Throughout most of the film, I simply couldn’t help but think to myself ‘God I hope Abrams gets this alien thing out of his system’. He is a writer and director so full of promise, but if with every movie he feels the need to slap an alien threat smack bang in the middle of it, people will start to get bored. Show us a little more of what you’re capable of, J.J.

Harry Potter AKA A Brief Overview Of My Childhood

This may be coming a bit late in the day, but it’s something I wanted to write and it’s probably an article better written with the benefit of hindsight. I am, of course, talking about this summer’s biggest hit and hardest goodbye, Harry Potter.

The audience response to the film was absolutely incredible, and while it is undoubtedly one of the best films in the series (if not the best), audiences seemed awfully quick to forget the, shall we say, less admirable qualities of the other films.

When the first film was released in 2001, I was but an 11 year old boy obsessed with the novels. I remember sitting down to watch it, the lights dimming, the trailers blurring past, all the time my head racing with the idea that my favourite book was about to come to life in a way my tiny brain could not even fathom. As the film started and the camera rolled past the Privet Drive sign, my little mind was blown. HARRY POTTER WAS REAL! I was instantly convinced it was the single best film of all time.

I look back at that first movie, now, as a 21 year old manboy and cringe. For all it’s merits, Chris Columbus either did not understand how to successfully turn a novel into a film, or he was so terrified of fan backlash that he simply threw everything into the film that he possibly could. The first two films suffered terribly because of it.

The third was an improvement, under the watchful eye of Alfonso Cuaron the films began to find their cinematic foundations. We were presented with stunning visuals, cinematic motifs such as the Whomping Willow through the changing seasons adding an element the books never could, the sheer scale that cinema is able to provide.

Goblet of Fire was a fair effort, but in no way groundbreaking, only notable in my books due to the appearance of a certain warlock known as Jarvis Cocker.

Film number five, and onto the scene steps David Yates, or as I like to call him, the man who knew Harry Potter. Here is a man who has come onto the scene incredibly late in the game, and while he may have been intimidated inside, it never for a second showed. His confident direction, his willingness to alter or change certain plot points to create a greater cinematic experience, his understanding of the characters – this man simply got how to make a decent Harry Potter film.

So it was with much sadness and excitement that I sat down to watch the final installment, and I was not disappointed for a single second. It was suitably epic, but tender. Appearances from old favourites who had not appeared for quite some time (the ten second appearances of Emma Thompson and Miriam Margoyles made my heart flutter), previously overlooked characters bought to the forefront (Maggie Smith kicking ass as though she were born to do it will forever be in my all time great cinematic moments), and allowing the incredible actors that the series had managed to accumulate the chance to simply act (Alan Rickman becoming every fan-girls secret crush just through the power of his acting, even with the hindrance of Benjamin Button stylee plastic face). All of these things and more made the film the perfect goodbye to a series which had not always been good, but had always tried it’s best.

My other half, on the other hand, left the cinema severely disappointed. ‘Too much has been left out’, he stated. He was upset that the house-elves never got their day on the screen. You just can’t please some people…

To 3D or not to 3D?

A question which many have contemplated ever since James Cameron’s Avatar (or ‘Pocahontas with blue people’ as I like to call it) blew it’s way into cinemas at Christmas-time in 2009. (Sidenote: Anyone else think it was a bizarre time to release it? Half expected blue Santa to pop up halfway through…) What can 3D add to a film? More importantly, what can it take away from the cinematic experience?

I saw Avatar in 3D, and, unlike what seems like the majority of cinema-goer’s felt, I wasn’t entirely keen on it. Was the 3D incredible? Yes. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. Did the film blow me away? On a few occasions, but as a rule, I would say no. While the 3D looked amazing, it added nothing to the overall cinematic experience for me; in fact, I’d go so far as to say it took away from it for me. After the (spoiler alert!) death of Sigourney Weaver’s character, who I will happily admit was the main draw for me, I actually fell asleep. The film was too long, the 3D too exhausting. While the 3D was visually stunning, it did not excite me. When I bought the film on DVD, I actually enjoyed, nee, preferred, watching it in 2D. Avatar was far more impressive for it’s use of motion capture performance, something for which it was vastly overlooked.

Where I feel 3D will eventually settle, and what I feel 3D should be used for, is for pure entertainment. Among my many poor film choices is my obsession with the Resident Evil series, (yes, I’m aware that they’re awful: no, I won’t apologise for loving them). When I saw Resident Evil: Afterlife at the cinema in 3D, I realised that this was exactly how 3D should be used. The depth of the film was stunning, the 3D utilised to make the audience jump, scream, and drop their jaws. Were 3D to be used in this way primarily, on the right film and done in the right way, then I would quite happily let the 3D argument lie.

However, film after film is being released in ‘3D’, when all the filmmakers have done is a hasty after-thought conversion, which adds absolutely nothing to the film and in most cases actually detracts. The conversion on Clash of the Titans was painful to watch, and most importantly of all, left many audiences feeling out of pocket. Why shouldn’t they? It was clear to anyone with an ounce of common sense that the distributors had decided to convert it so that they were able to add an extra couple of quid to the ticket price. Director’s need to take a note from Christopher Nolan’s book, who has downright refused to film any of his films in 3D, simply because he didn’t feel it was necessary. The story didn’t call for it, and so he didn’t use it. There is no doubt in my mind that Inception in 3D would have equalled, possibly even surpassed Avatar in terms of it’s visual beauty, but it wasn’t needed to tell his story. Nolan has the good sense to know that, and his films are all the better because of it.

What I find encouraging is the fact that audiences seem to be realising this. Apparently, 3D screenings are falling while 2D screenings of 3D films are back on the rise. This is promising, but lets hope this doesn’t mean the death of 3D altogether. When used in the correct way (and in this critic’s humble opinion, the correct way means scaring the shit out of horror fans by throwing chainsaws in their faces, or splattering teeny-boppers in goo), 3D is a great tool for cinema to utilise. It breaks down some of the boundaries between the screen and the audience, making for an altogether more interactive experience, something which films should be capitalising on more often.