Tag: classic

A Clockwork Orange (1971)

A Clockwork Orange

That iconic wide shot of the flatblock marina.

‘A Clockwork Orange’ is a deranged piece of required viewing that has entered the annals of popular culture.

I distinctly remember the first time I watched ‘A Clockwork Orange’. I was only 11-years-old and it was a rainy, overcast afternoon – perfect conditions for watching a film. I was aware of the film’s notoriety; I remembered my dad’s excitement when he managed to find a copy of it in France in the late 1990s, telling me that it had been banned by the director in our country.

Stanley Kubrick died in 1999, and sometime between then and 2004 a newly released English copy had been bought, presumably by my dad. With a certain degree of espionage, I managed to find the VHS and slip it into my all-in-one television and VCR player.

As soon as the stark red and blue colouring of the opening scene flooded the screen, I was captivated. The strange aesthetic and Wendy Carlos’ haunting Moog synthesiser soundtrack was unlike anything I had ever seen, I was utterly compelled by it and I knew I was watching something really special.

The film follows Alex and his three ‘Droogs’, a gang of amoral young men who spend their evenings beating, stealing and raping. Since my initial viewing all those years ago, I have realised that it was the terrific energy of the film’s first hour or so that gripped me as an 11-year-old boy. Yes, you’re watching the Droogs ‘tolchock’ and rape, however Alex’s completely unhinged life unravels on the screen with such vitality; it’s a thrillingly deranged trip that swiftly grabs and immerses its viewer like few films manage.

There is no other film that is quite like ‘A Clockwork Orange’. It is riddled with idiosyncrasies, with its gaudy costumes, futuristic interior design and particularly ‘Nadsat’, the Droogs’ esoteric language, some of which has since entered common parlance. It is also a film that truly feels British, particularly in its humour, which comes chiefly through the comments and sometimes rather slapstick actions of the eccentric central character. One of its foremost merits lies in Wendy Carlos’ wonderful score. It blends classical pieces such as Rossini’s The Thieving Magpie and Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony with Carlos’ Moog synthesiser renditions of  Beethoven and Baroque music including Henry Purcell’s March.

There’s no doubt that the film aestheticises violence and indeed glorifies the central character Alex DeLarge. Malcolm McDowell gives Alex an undeniable charisma that charms you, making him an antihero that you find yourself very much rooting for. During all of his nastiness he is never hateful, not in the slightest; he has that infamous sideways grin that’s menacing and amusing in equal measure. I consider McDowell’s iconic, oddball performance to be one of cinema’s greatest.

All of this, of course, poses something of a moral dilemma. As the film progresses, our charismatic antihero who has both charmed us and appalled us finds himself up against the government. What ensues appears to be somewhat dubious and confused in its stance and meaning.

Some may think the film advocates delinquency, but I disagree. The key to the film’s success is that it doesn’t give any definite answers; instead, it explores the complexities and difficulties of crime and punishment, presenting us with this dystopian vision of sheer state control. While Alex is certainly a great character, those who idolise him are far too impressionable to be watching the film.

‘A Clockwork Orange’ is a spectacular synthesis of absurd aesthetic, striking cinematography, innovative music and an exceptional lead actor supported by a strong, interesting cast. It is a piece of required viewing that’s entered the annals of popular culture.

96%

The Godfather (1972)

The Godfather

A twisting, dramatic masterpiece whose success relies on perfect casting and Mario Puzo’s excellent novel.

It’s hard to judge a film like ‘The Godfather’, especially for someone of my generation. Since its release in 1972, The Godfather has accrued a legendary status; it’s difficult to watch a film that is often touted as the best of all time with an open mind and no preconceptions. However, after watching The Godfather many times and reading the novel on which it was based, it’s clearly something very special. The film is a sprawling epic that rewards the viewer with a savagely twisting, multi- faceted plot. It’s a mobsters’ coming of age tale that’s laced with tension, deception, tragedy, violence and death.

Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) is introduced on the day of his daughter’s wedding, a very special day in Sicilian tradition where the father of the bride is to deny no man a special favour. The beneficiaries’ utmost respect for the Don is illustrated in the opening scene, their displays of courtesy coming in the form of personal address and greeting rituals. The Don is a man of respect and principle, a man who puts emphasis on what’s fair, denying to avenge, for example, a father’s anguish over the rape of his daughter by means of murder – ‘That is not justice; your daughter’s still alive’.

In other circles however; the Don is not so respected. Vito Corleone is an old fashioned Don, what is referred to as a ‘Moustache Pete’; he is reluctant to delve into the business of drugs, unlike the contemporaries from the rival New York crime families. The Don’s refusal turns the relationship between the Corleones and many of the other families sour. It is how the ensuing violence is regarded as just ‘business’ that is the cold, harsh danger of the film. Its depiction of violence is visceral and often occurs when not expected. Rather quickly, the Corleone criminal empire falls apart; the next generation having to revitalise the family and reclaim their place at the top of the five families.

The film is probably the most perfectly cast in history. The primary characters of Vito (Marlon Brando), Sonny (James Caan), Michael (Al Pacino), Fredo (John Cazale), Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), Clemenza (Richard S. Castellano) and Kay Adams (Diane Keaton) are all expertly interpreted from Mario Puzo’s magnum opus. The scores of supporting actors are also without fault. After reading the novel, it’s remarkable how faithfully envisioned the characters are in the film, which is thanks to a combination of uncanny physicality and astute interpretation.

The Godfather is a brilliant adaptation of Mario Puzo’s masterfully told story; the 1969 novel was written with such an authenticity that it almost seems like non-fiction in certain passages. I think it’s true that when one thinks of a gangster, they picture the omnipotent Vito Corleone sitting back in his chair, his glum face contemplating with that infinite sagacity and authority.

The Godfather is a true spectacle in both mediums; deciding which is best is a difficult task. The only aspect that I felt was stronger in the book was character development. The character of Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) is given greater depth in the novel; Michael’s transcendence seeming comparatively abrupt in the celluloid interpretation. The character of Luca Brasi is abundantly more powerful in the book, whom whilst is an ally of the Corleone family, is penned as an ominous villain with a dark, brutal secret.

The film, meanwhile, essentially depicts Brasi as an oaf. This depiction is understandable, Brasi is an old-timer who is firmly within a closing chapter of the Corleone family, however I was surprised by how markedly less intimidating a figure he was.  Additionally, many of the supporting characters are also given interesting back stories by Puzo, notably Captain McCluskey. Of course, that level of intricacy is possible in a novel, while a film could easily become bloated with such detailing.

Ultimately, ‘The Godfather’ is a film made by a highly talented crew who combined the seminal prose of a skilled author with brilliant direction, perfect performances, effective cinematography and the utterly beautiful, iconic music of Nino Rota and Carlo Savina to produce one of the best, well rounded and moving films ever made. It is a film that is wholly deserving of the term ‘required viewing’.

98%

Scum (1979)

ScumA damning depiction of rehabilitation, hierarchy and corruption.  

Despite being released over 30 years ago, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Scum has lost none of its punch. ‘Scum’ is an unforgiving portrait of the British borstal system – 1 hour and 30 minutes of both physical and psychological abuse.

The film examines the hierarchy of the borstal, looking at the behaviour and roles of both the officers and the inmates, questioning who’s worse. This hierarchy is ruptured when Carlin (Ray Winstone) enters the borstal. Carlin claims to be looking for ‘no trouble’, but really he is equally or even more pugnacious and skullduggerous than the rest.

Much like ‘Cool Hand Luke’ and ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’, ‘Scum’ explores the infuriating frustration of injustice in ‘correctional’ institutions. Personally, I find few things worse than the abuse of power, whether it’s within an institution, a family or any other context. I’m sure many would agree, subsequently making ‘Scum’ an engrossing and unpleasant watch for all.

Asides from Carlin, the most significant character is Archer (Mick Ford), an intelligent, disaffected vegan who is a habitual troublemaker. Archer serves as an interesting plot device; he offers intelligent, biting monologues on the flaws of the institution, most notably to an officer’s face, who retaliates by reducing their civil conversation into another officious, hostile procedure.

It’s Carlin’s arrival, growth and ultimately tenure as ‘The Daddy’ that serves as the central narrative of the film, but thematically the film acts as a condemnation of the borstal system and its corrupt, vindictive employees. One may wonder if the film is hyperbolic, but the borstal system was abolished by government in 1982, replacing it instead with ‘Youth Custody Centres’. This corroborates Scum’s credibility.

80%