CULT FILM: THE VIRGIN SUICIDES

  

Central to the tragic yet compelling world of The Virgin Suicides are the five doe-eyed, angelic Lisbon sisters (Cecilia, Lux, Bonnie, Mary and Therese). Based on Jeffrey Eugenides’ cult novel, Sofia Coppola’s 1999 film has gained the same cult status since it captures both the triviality and grandeur of youth.

Set in an American suburb in the 1970s, a maths teacher (James Woods) and his uptight Catholic wife (Kathleen Turner) are parents to these seemingly perfect girls. All illusions of normal suburban life are, however, shattered following the unsuccessful first suicide attempt of their youngest daughter, Cecilia (Hanna Hall). This acts as a catalyst for these already strict parents to become even more overbearing and insular. This results in a captivating story of the girls’ brief lives narrated by the teenage boys who live on their street.

It is obvious from the title that the girls will kill themselves but Coppola provides us with an unanswered mystery as we are given subtle clues but no hard facts. However, this lack of explanation is the point: the girls have altered the lives of the boys, now men, who preserve the Lisbon sisters as the kind of perfect ideal they present to the outside world. Through studying the sisters, the boys gain a rare insight into “the imprisonment of being a girl.” This gives an unexpected perspective on what should be regarded as a difficult subject matter.

The novel is famed for its third person plural narrative and Coppola gives this hauntingly complex story the smooth transition into film it deserves. The film is mostly constructed through flashbacks, focusing on the rebellious Lux (Kirsten Dunst), the most charismatic of the sisters. After Cecilia’s suicide attempt, the Lisbons’ seek the advice of a psychiatrist (Danny DeVito) who advises the girls to socialise with the opposite sex. As a result, the Lisbons allow their daughters to attend a dance despite Mrs Lisbon adding extra fabric to the girls’ prom dresses and imposing a strict curfew. Trouble ensues when the school heartthrob, Trip Fontiane (Josh Harnett) fails to bring Lux home on time, seducing and then abandoning her on an empty football pitch. The girls are consequentially locked up, like princesses in a tower, deprived of contact with the outside world. An ordinary life is tantalisingly out of reach to the sisters and Coppola’s exploration of adolescent loss of innocence is made more shocking by Mr Lisbon’s assertion that “there was always plenty of love in our house.”

“Cecilia was the first to go”, we are told right at the beginning. “You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets,” Dr. Hornicker tells her following her first suicide attempt. Cecilia’s matter-of-fact response is “Obviously doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year-old girl.” The film’s cult status perhaps stems from the fact that it climaxes on the concept that youth does not necessarily equate to happiness.

Previously published here  

FILM REVIEW: A LONG WAY DOWN

Nick Hornby’s bestselling novels – About a Boy, High Fidelity and Fever Pitch – have been successfully adapted into films, perhaps due to their simple narratives. However, his 2005 novel, A Long Way Down, fails to make a smooth transition to film.

A Long Way Down follows four strangers who intend to jump off ‘Toppers House’, an infamous London suicide spot, on New Year’s Eve. They find themselves talking to each other instead of jumping and make a pact to remain alive until Valentine’s Day, the next popular suicide day in the calendar.

Pierce Brosnan plays Martin, a disgraced breakfast TV host, briefly imprisoned after a liaison with a 15 year old (“she looked 25”). Toni Colette plays Maureen who is mistaken for a lonely cat lady but is actually single mother to a disabled son. They are joined on the roof by Jess (Imogen Poots), manic depressive daughter of an MP (Sam Neill) and JJ (Aaron Paul), a failed rock musician working as a pizza delivery guy.

This results in a suicide comedy which is disappointing from when the ‘Toppers Tower Four’ form a supportive ‘gang’ to when they jet off to Spain together to escape media intervention after they become minor celebrities.

 

There are humorous moments: when they appear on national news, “professional liar” Jess speaks of how they saw an angel resembling Matt Damon on the roof. Rosamund Pike shines as Penny, Martin’s former co-host who interrogates the group on their experience. It is these humorous moments that stop the film from taking itself too seriously, a concept Hornby was conscious of when penning the book:  “If I wrote a book about depression that was incredibly depressing, why would anybody want to read it?”

This may have worked well on paper and, in theory, should have worked on screen, but Jack Thorne’s screenplay feels clumsy at points. Take, for instance, the multi-stranded narration which is presumably supposed to give us insight into each character. Instead, it is clunky and disjointed rather than moving seamlessly from character to character and we somehow feel slightly detached from the characters’ lives.

With an intriguing premise and a talented cast, the film should have been a success. As always, Toni Collette plays the single mother role well and it is interesting to see Pierce Brosnan in a more emotional role. Poots and Paul have exceptional chemistry but that was to be expected since this is their second film together following Need for Speed.

Ultimately, A Long Way Down is not as funny or moving as it should have been. In the same way Jess describes JJ, the film can be summed up as “cute but infinitely forgettable.”

CULT READ: AMERICAN GODS

 Neil Gaiman has made a career out of restitching old myths from the old DC comic characters he brought back for his bestselling series, The Sandman, to his latest novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane. First published in 2001, Neil Gaiman’s ode to America, American Gods, became an instant cult classic. This may stem from the fact that it blends the best aspects of fairy tale with the most captivating aspects of a road novel.

Fresh from serving three years in prison for aggravated assault, Shadow learns that his wife, Laura, has been killed in a car accident with his best friend, the man who had promised Shadow a job. The two had been having an affair during Shadow’s sentence. Without a job, a home or a wife, Shadow finds his life more or less non-existent. He is essentially a living ghost, navigating the world without purpose. When an older man, claiming to be a refugee from a distant war and the king of America, offers Shadow a job as his bodyguard, he has no reason not to accept. ‘Let’s see. Well, seeing that today certainly is my day — why don’t you call me Wednesday?’ is the man’s reply when Shadow asks who he is.  Anyone with a basic knowledge of mythology will be able to figure out Wednesday’s true identity as a manifestation of Odin, ruler of the Norse Gods.

Odin’s quest allows Gaiman to explore the history of America, mythology and the power of belief, as Wednesday says: ‘This is the only country in the world that worries about what it is… No one ever needs to go searching for the heart of Norway. Or looks for the soul of Mozambique… They know what they are.’  Gaiman exposes the stand-out aspects of American culture which don’t exist anywhere else- the roadside attractions and concealed worlds that exist only in the depths of a nation built around highways- without wasting time on the clichéd icons of the main American cities.

Interestingly, Gaiman wrote American Gods while travelling across America in an attempt to understand American beliefs and ideologies. Perhaps the best element of the novel is the way in which Gaiman portrays his own thoughts on his experience with America through the fantasy genre. This is revealed through the alternative, dream-like universe Shadow inhibits where he meets Gaiman’s many representations of Ancient Norse myths including Mr Nancy (a manifestation of the spider God Anansi) and Czernobog, the Slavic God of darkness.

Contemporary American gods – TV, the internet and credit cards – have announced war on the old ones resulting in an epic battle of the gods. The novel climaxes on the idea that Gods do not exist on an external plane but adapt with the culture and people who worship and believe in them, as Gaiman writes, ‘Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.’

Part of American Gods’ enormous success – and, by extension, Gaiman’s – is the way in which it fuses concepts which are not ordinarily combined: humour and horror; reality and fantasy; the fairy tale and the novel. Gaiman spoke of his attempts to ‘describe the experience of coming to America as an immigrant… watching the way that America tends to eat other cultures.’ In this way, the novel portrays all of the contemporary aspects of American ideals through the lens of ancient cultural myth.

Previously published here

REVIEW: MISS JULIE- CITIZENS THEATRE, GLASGOW

Dominic Hill’s version of Stridenberg’s 1888 classic battle of the sexes gives Miss Julie a much needed update.

It is a relatively small scale production, giving it the tension it requires. Neil Hayes sparse, minimal set keeps the focus on the lives depicted within it. Miss Julie details the short affair between Julie (Louise Brealey), a privileged and uptight Lord’s daughter and her father’s servant, John (Keith Fleming). John’s faincée, Christine (Jessica Hardwick) is the only character who grasps the hopeless reality of the situation as she says, ‘All I know is that this is the system we have got.’ This results in an alluring game of sexual power which ultimately ends in tragedy. 

Known for her role as lab assistant, Molly Hooper, in BBC’s Sherlock, Louise Brealey’s performance is captivating from start to finish. Willing to defy the social class barrier, Brealey’s Julie possesses a sense of danger, yet vulnerability since she was raised by a physically abusive father and a mother who encouraged her daughter to kill small animals in an attempt to overcome the gender roles in the 1920s. In contrast, Citizens intern, Jessica Hardwick’s Christine is sensible and unwilling to cross social conventions. John, the object of their affection turns from displaying decency to brutal malice and aggression towards both Julie and his practical fiancée.

Portraying universal themes including love, class, power and gender roles, Miss Julie has previously been set in post-apartheid South Africa in Yael Farber’s rewrite (staged as simply Julie.) Now spun out within a backdrop of social conflict at the time of the 1926 General Strike, Hill’s Scottish take on the upstairs-downstairs liaison feels surprisingly relevant. Those who have seen Farber’s version at the Edinburgh Festival two years ago may not appreciate this Scottish take on events but it is these rigid British class values that keep Miss Julie compelling.

Less than ninety minutes long, with the absence of an interval, the play is an intense and intimate affair. The trio often have their backs to the audience, making us feel as if we are intruding on their lives. Brealey herself spoke of the horrifying nature of the play, ‘something putatively domestic suddenly feels like Greek tragedy.’ The production’s brutal and subtle climax in which Julie takes a knife to her throat brings this to the fore. The oppressive midsummer heat permeates the production, adding to the tension as it is inevitable that there will be no happy ending. Someone has to win this sexual game of cat and mouse.

Miss Julie climaxes on the concept of sexual politics: battle of the sexes, sexual desire and the extent to which men and women manipulate each other in order to get what they want. Hill has established a reputation for updating classic stories and this one does not disappoint.

Previously published here 

REVIEW: HANSEL AND GRETEL- THEATRE ROYAL, GLASGOW

Christopher Hampson's first production for Scottish Ballet employs a modern retelling of the sinister and cannibalistic Grimms tale. This version of Hansel and Gretel takes place in an unnamed town in the 1950s where children have strangely been disappearing and only the central siblings’ remain.

Gary Harris' Disney-esque set design, complete with intentionally naive and child-like illustrations is captivating and so are the lives depicted within it. Hansel (Constant Vigier) and Gretel (Sophie Martin)’s fractious but ultimately devoted relationship is well-done and Hampson has gone to great lengths to make them seem like real children by incorporating oversized furniture and ensuring that never stand up next to their parents. However, his efforts were undermined when they dance with real children at the end. There’s a vulnerability to Martin’s performance which is just right for Gretel who has given herself the role of looking after her less domineering brother. Bethany Kingsley-Garner’s appearance as the delicate Dew Drop Fairy in Act Two, complete with sparkly tutu-clad Fairy attendants, is entertaining as well as visually stunning.

The most memorable performance, however, is Eve Mutso's enchanting transformation from school teacher to beguiling ballerina to blood-thirsty horror. She’s comical as well as haunting as she entices Hansel and Gretel to sleep and later chases the mischievous pair around her food laden table. Musto's movements are macabre, verging on ugly but that's just right for her character's decline.

There is an irony and innocence surrounding the production from the set to the costumes and plot itself. Caught up in the child-like wonderment of an all-you-can-eat buffet of your dreams, Hansel and Gretel fail to notice that the witch’s house has bars on the windows in the same way that they fail to recognise the witch herself as their former school teacher.  In some respects, Hampson sugar-coats the creepier psychological aspects of the original tale with the inclusion of an array of waiters, chefs and rag dolls. However, Daniel Davidson’s villainous Sandman (his costume was inspired by Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow) is perhaps even more disturbing than the pantomime-scary witch.


Humperdinck’s melodic score is combined with other music, including a section from his opera, Sleeping Beauty. The absence of an evil step-mother adds another unique  element to Hampson's production. Instead, we are presented with flawed but ultimately endearing parents (Luciana Ravizzi and Christopher Harrison) who squabble over cigarettes and alcohol in the same way that their children later argue over a teddy-bear.

Hampson’s narrative does not offer much opportunity for large-scale ensemble pieces, meaning that most of the production revolves around the hero and heroine. It’s a wonder that Scottish Ballet is the first company to produce a full-length ballet of this beautifully twisted fairy tale.

FILM REVIEW: SAVING MR BANKS

Mary Poppins, one of Walt Disney’s own personal achievements will turn 50 next year.  To celebrate, Disney Studios released a biopic about the making of the film. It’s witty and enjoyable despite being a little self-congratulatory at times.

Saving Mr Banks follows Walt Disney’s (Tom Hanks) relentless quest to persuade PL Travers (Emma Thompson) to secure him the film rights to her closely guarded children’s book, Mary Poppins. Travers halfheartedly accepts Disney’s proposal when her agent manages to convince her on the grounds that she is running out of money. Prim and uptight, Travers is not willing to let Disney sugar-coat her creation. “Mary Poppins does not sing”, she warns him, “I won’t have her turned into one of your silly cartoons.” Inevitably, the joke is on her as the film winds up being one of Disney’s most popular family favourites-with singing.

Pamela Travers would have been an interesting subject for a film even if she hadn’t penned Mary Poppins. The Australian-born novelist was the daughter of an alcoholic and unsuccessful bank manager (Collin Farrell). Unable to cope, her mother attempted suicide while Travers was still a child. The biopic flashes back to Travers’ girlhood in Australia which should have worked in theory but this is where the film loses focus, detracting from the scenes between Hanks and Thompson. Not only that, there is a suggestion that Mary Poppins is simply a thinly veiled fictionalised account of Travers' own childhood.

The majority of the action takes place in 1961 during the fortnight that Travers spent with Disney as he attempted to adapt her film for the big screen. In these scenes, the intricacy of Travers own life is ignored, instead presenting her as a lonely spinster. This was not the case in real life- although she never married, Travers did in fact have romantic relationships with both men and women. However, the rest of the film seems to be true to life- a real voice recording of Disney and Travers played at the end credits is close to  the way Thompson and Hanks depict the relationship on screen.

Collin Farrell as PL Travers father and Annie Buckley as Ginty/young PL Travers.

The humour is well done. Upon arrival in America, her driver Ralph claims that the sun has come out just to say hello to her. “Don’t be preposterous,” is her reply. “Poor AA Milne”, Travers sighs when her California hotel room is full of Winnie the Pooh toys. She arrives at Disney’s studio with what appears to be an endless list of requests and a stubbornness to not back down on any of them. “Oh no, no, no, goodness me, no, no, no”, she exclaims when she sees the initial sketch of Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane. She doesn’t want the colour red in the film, “I’ve just gone off the colour”, she states, “I’m anti-red.”

The decision to cast Emma Thompson as Travers is uncanny as new generations will recognise her as Nanny McPhee. Saving Mr Banks reveals an artist’s struggle to preserve her work. The film climaxes on the battle between art and entertainment, ultimately revealing that they can co-exist.

Previously published here

TV REVIEW: GLEE

Following Cory Monteith’s tragic death in July from drug overdose, Glee writers Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuck were faced with the monumental task of writing a tribute episode to the well-loved actor and his character, Finn Hudson.

Aptly titled, The Quarterback, the episode opens with the cast’s rendition of ‘Seasons of Love’ from Rent, a Broadway production which centres on death at a young age. This initially seemed a little cheesy but it worked fairly well as an opening number. Controversially there is no explanation given for the cause of Finn’s death. In a voice over by Finn’s stepbrother and glee club counterpart, we were told that this information was irrelevant in a tone that suggested that we shouldn’t even be asking: “Everyone wants to talk about how he died, but who cares?” Perhaps this was to prevent Finn’s death from descending into the mere role of a plot point but even so, anyone who has loyally watched the show for the past few years deserves to know how Finn died.

At one point, Sue notes that the best tribute would be “not making a self-serving spectacle of our own sadness”- this is one of the few lines Glee has got right since it premiered four years ago. The Quarterback follows the same formula of every other Glee episode: Mr Schuester writes a task on the board and the New Directions have to sing songs relating to that. This time he writes “Finn” and the characters sing a range of songs that remind them of the late quarterback , including James Taylor’s ‘Fire and Rain’, The Pretenders’ ‘I’ll Stand By You’ and Bruce Springsteen’s ‘I’ll Surrender.’

One thing Glee got right this time was its exploration of individual grief. The scenes with Finn’s mother (Romy Rosemont) sorting through her son’s belongings are heart breaking. This was the episode’s most poignant non-musical scene. With reference to musical scenes, Lea Michele, Montieth’s on and off-screen girlfriend is the star of the show. She doesn’t make an appearance until halfway through the episode but her cover of Make You Feel My Love, the first song she and Finn sang together in the car, is beautifully done and almost uncomfortable to watch.

For the most part, the writers handled Finn’s death (and by extension, Monteith’s) well. However, Quarterback served more as a flawed tribute to the life, but not the death, of Cory Montieth and it is unlikely that Glee will survive much longer without its leading male character.

Previously published here