A good friend of mine posted the below to their Facebook page today:
"I watched the video for Lily Allen's new song today - it's a good pop song with a great message but here's a really spot on critique of her use of black female dancers as sexual props"
First of all here is a link to Lily Allen's new single, which I encourage you to watch
Secondly, here is a link to the blog post linked by my friend
I started writing the below as a response to the Facebook post, and it mutated into the below. I decided to turn it into a blog post.
I disagree with many of the points raised in this blog post. A bigger racist problem for me is how Twerking is just the latest example of white appropriation of black culture in America, which goes back decades. There are countless examples of so called 'coloured records' in the 1950s being re-recorded by white artists and becoming the first big rock and roll records (e.g. Big Joe Turner's Shake Rattle and Roll vs. Bill Haley and the Comets version). Two of the major landmarks on the explosion of Rap and Hip Hop on the pop charts were Run DMC's cover of Aerosmith's Walk This Way, and Ice Ice Baby (The first Hip Hop single to top the Billboard charts, performed by one of the whitest men in the history of the planet). Basically there is a long history of white artists adopting elements of black culture, which then 'legitimises' this culture in widespread media. Twerking too has its origins in black culture, notably in the Bounce music scene of New Orleans. Bounce has been around for 25 years, but predictably only came to greater prominence only when a white girl starts twerking at the VMAs. Twerking has not been a problem to the white dominated media previously, but as soon as white folk start doing it we start nervously tugging at our handkerchiefs.
A lot of the criticism in this article seems to centre around the contrast between how Allen is portrayed in comparison to the dancers. Basically she hasn't shown enough flesh or skanked it up enough to 'earn' the right to satire. This seems to me an odd line to take especially considering the intro to the video, with a couple of white men discussing how much she has 'let herself go'. To suggest by not exposing enough skin she has exploited the dancers is to ignore the fact that Allen is still dressed in sexualised clothing of her own choosing, presumably to an extent she is comfortable with, and not one dictated by a male record executive. The take home for me is that female pop stars can still be sexy to market themselves, without needing to go to the extremes many current female popstars deem necessary (and symbolised in western white media by Miley Cyrus). The contrast between Lily Allen's appearance in this video and those of her dancers is instrumental to this.
I also believe that the shots selected have been specifically selected for the reasons the author of the above post lists. Yes they are voyeuristic and gross. They take the types of things seen in many pop videos today, and amplify them far beyond this to the absolute absurd. Look at the scenes with the champagne being sprayed in slo-mo, or the double handed ass slap (don't get to type that every day). The extreme nature of these coupled with the hyper slo-mo lingering nature of the shots exposes such things for how absolutely ridiculous and exploitative such things really are. To take selected screen grabs to complain about shears them of the context the moving image affords them. Shot selection and editing are crucial elements of what gives moving images meaning. Without them, we merely have collections of random images. (For more info on this I encourage research on Soviet Montage Theory).
As a final note, I definitely reject the final sentences of the article which I quote below:
"On that note, FUCK you Lily Allen and who asked you to drag your ass out of musical retirement in the first place? Despite loving your music (and finding this song catchy), I sure as hell want you to take your ass right back there ASAP."
Telling those you disagree with to shut up and go away is vile behaviour, and akin to bullying in my eyes. Threats, or attempts to silence efforts at actual discourse are always to be abhorred and will always lessen a persons arguments in my eyes.
OK, that's enough Andrew. What started out as a pithy response to a Facebook post has turned into a full blown blog rant. As always, when discussing feminist or race related topics, I realise as a cis white male I may not be in the best position to fully understand all the facets of the arguments. I expect to be wrong in a number of ways, and welcome any criticisms or comments you have below. It is the only way I'll learn!
Wednesday 13 November 2013
Wednesday 2 October 2013
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
or: How I learned to stop worrying and love writer's block.
Its been a couple of weeks since I posted something new. It isn't that I haven't watched anything recently (I have), or that real life has intervened (despite job dramas and the release of GTA V). Instead, having watched The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, I find myself having greatly enjoyed a film, and yet having little of interest to say about it.
This lack of an angle of approach has meant I've sat down to write something on multiple occasions to write something, and gotten bogged down after a paragraph or two. (Indeed as I write this, it is above the carcass of another DOA attempt, kept for now in case I can cannibalise any of it for this attempt!)
Do I talk about the terrific performances? Humphrey Bogart is terrific as the venal Fred C. Dobbs, the penniless miner who loses his soul to greed for gold. Walter Huston provides the definitive portrayal of a grizzled gold prospector, right down to his madcap jig performed when they strike gold. Hustons performance was so good he won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his work here.
I could highlight the familial connection in the film, with John Huston directing his father. Huston junior won the Academy Award for directing, making it the first time father and son had been honoured for the same film. John Huston also has a cameo as the affluent American Dobbs pesters for money at the beginning of the film.
Perhaps I could talk about the escalating sense of dread and unease which builds throughout the film. As Dobbs paranoia grows, and he acts more and more erratically, we are drawn into the twisted web of his madness. The audience is given less space to breathe as the film progresses, and the final act of laughter comes as needed catharsis.
I haven't even mentioned Tim Holt as the third member of the gold mining crew, or the fourth American to join the group and the fateful decision to which it leads our principals. I could discuss the depiction of the Mexican people in the film, and how it will appear racist and anachronistic to a modern audience. But is it fair to nit-pick over what is admittedly a minor part of the film?
At the end of the day this is a compelling film, anchored by some virtuoso performances. It remains as taut and fraught today as it would've in 1948, and is highly recommended to any and all film enthusiasts. Just don't ask me to write about it!
Random Acts of Criticism will return with Witness for the Prosecution
Its been a couple of weeks since I posted something new. It isn't that I haven't watched anything recently (I have), or that real life has intervened (despite job dramas and the release of GTA V). Instead, having watched The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, I find myself having greatly enjoyed a film, and yet having little of interest to say about it.
This lack of an angle of approach has meant I've sat down to write something on multiple occasions to write something, and gotten bogged down after a paragraph or two. (Indeed as I write this, it is above the carcass of another DOA attempt, kept for now in case I can cannibalise any of it for this attempt!)
Do I talk about the terrific performances? Humphrey Bogart is terrific as the venal Fred C. Dobbs, the penniless miner who loses his soul to greed for gold. Walter Huston provides the definitive portrayal of a grizzled gold prospector, right down to his madcap jig performed when they strike gold. Hustons performance was so good he won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his work here.
I could highlight the familial connection in the film, with John Huston directing his father. Huston junior won the Academy Award for directing, making it the first time father and son had been honoured for the same film. John Huston also has a cameo as the affluent American Dobbs pesters for money at the beginning of the film.
Perhaps I could talk about the escalating sense of dread and unease which builds throughout the film. As Dobbs paranoia grows, and he acts more and more erratically, we are drawn into the twisted web of his madness. The audience is given less space to breathe as the film progresses, and the final act of laughter comes as needed catharsis.
I haven't even mentioned Tim Holt as the third member of the gold mining crew, or the fourth American to join the group and the fateful decision to which it leads our principals. I could discuss the depiction of the Mexican people in the film, and how it will appear racist and anachronistic to a modern audience. But is it fair to nit-pick over what is admittedly a minor part of the film?
At the end of the day this is a compelling film, anchored by some virtuoso performances. It remains as taut and fraught today as it would've in 1948, and is highly recommended to any and all film enthusiasts. Just don't ask me to write about it!
Random Acts of Criticism will return with Witness for the Prosecution
Sunday 15 September 2013
The Great Dictator
One of the great debates when it comes to silent cinema is that of who was the greatest silent comedian. On one side you have the great Stone Face, Buster Keaton, and on the other Charlie Chaplin and his Little Tramp (Poor old Harold Lloyd doesn't get much of a look in, unfortunate chap.) I'm always a little bemused by the debate, because to me it seems like trying to decide whether spare ribs or fried chicken is better. Either way, you're going to be well fed.
The recognition of their silent genius is very important when it comes to appraising Chaplin's 1940 film, The Great Dictator. This was the maestro's first ever full talkie picture, and aimed to poke fun at no less than Hitler's Nazi Germany. Chaplin himself plays two roles, both the Dictator Hynkel of Tomania, who is the film's Hitler stand in, and also a poor persecuted Jewish barber living in one of Tomania's Jewish ghettoes.
As Chaplin's first foray into sound pictures, it really confirms what a terrific silent comedian he is. The parts of this that really shine are the silent comedic scenes that could have fit into any of his previous masterpieces. The barber's scene shaving a customer to the sound of Brahms' Hungarian Dance No. 5, and Hynkel's maniacal dance with the inflatable globe are both fully worthy of any other Chaplin film. Chaplin himself remains as nimble as ever, hilariously able to spring into a chest and hide in mere seconds at one point.
The attempts at spoken comedy fall a little more flat. One of the main gags with Hynkel and the Benito Mussolini counterpart, Napaloni, relies on their accents, with the main joke appearing to be 'listen to these guys, they have funny foreign accents'. It can be understood perhaps, considering the political state of the world at the time, but has dated very badly in the intervening years. Partly because of this, the Hynkel scenes are the least enjoyable parts of the film, with those featuring the Barber generally more entertaining. This can be attributed to the fact that the barber is a variation on his lovable Tramp character, and thus more prone to the silent comedy he does so well.
The other section of the film that has unfortunately dated is for more historical reasons. Depictions of life in the Jewish ghettoes and the Nazi concentration camps are very far from the reality of the situation in Europe at the time. There was no way Chaplin could have known this when he made the film, but it makes the scenes far more poignant and melancholy because of it. Whilst he was showing what he thought was the extent of the suffering for the Jewish people, the extreme suffering and deprivation we now know them to have suffered is absolutely sickening in contrast. Chaplin himself stated in his autobiography that had he known the extent of the horrors of the concentration camps, he never would have made this film.
How to judge The Great Dictator then? Best to view it as a historical curiosity. It is an excellent example of a wartime propaganda piece, and an important documentary testament to the American and European understanding of the reality of life in Nazi Germany at the time. As a comedy it is somewhat less successful, with the moments of genius leavened with parts that really have dated badly. This is certainly not where you should start if you had not watched any Chaplin yet, rather one for the completionists only.
The recognition of their silent genius is very important when it comes to appraising Chaplin's 1940 film, The Great Dictator. This was the maestro's first ever full talkie picture, and aimed to poke fun at no less than Hitler's Nazi Germany. Chaplin himself plays two roles, both the Dictator Hynkel of Tomania, who is the film's Hitler stand in, and also a poor persecuted Jewish barber living in one of Tomania's Jewish ghettoes.
As Chaplin's first foray into sound pictures, it really confirms what a terrific silent comedian he is. The parts of this that really shine are the silent comedic scenes that could have fit into any of his previous masterpieces. The barber's scene shaving a customer to the sound of Brahms' Hungarian Dance No. 5, and Hynkel's maniacal dance with the inflatable globe are both fully worthy of any other Chaplin film. Chaplin himself remains as nimble as ever, hilariously able to spring into a chest and hide in mere seconds at one point.
The attempts at spoken comedy fall a little more flat. One of the main gags with Hynkel and the Benito Mussolini counterpart, Napaloni, relies on their accents, with the main joke appearing to be 'listen to these guys, they have funny foreign accents'. It can be understood perhaps, considering the political state of the world at the time, but has dated very badly in the intervening years. Partly because of this, the Hynkel scenes are the least enjoyable parts of the film, with those featuring the Barber generally more entertaining. This can be attributed to the fact that the barber is a variation on his lovable Tramp character, and thus more prone to the silent comedy he does so well.
The other section of the film that has unfortunately dated is for more historical reasons. Depictions of life in the Jewish ghettoes and the Nazi concentration camps are very far from the reality of the situation in Europe at the time. There was no way Chaplin could have known this when he made the film, but it makes the scenes far more poignant and melancholy because of it. Whilst he was showing what he thought was the extent of the suffering for the Jewish people, the extreme suffering and deprivation we now know them to have suffered is absolutely sickening in contrast. Chaplin himself stated in his autobiography that had he known the extent of the horrors of the concentration camps, he never would have made this film.
How to judge The Great Dictator then? Best to view it as a historical curiosity. It is an excellent example of a wartime propaganda piece, and an important documentary testament to the American and European understanding of the reality of life in Nazi Germany at the time. As a comedy it is somewhat less successful, with the moments of genius leavened with parts that really have dated badly. This is certainly not where you should start if you had not watched any Chaplin yet, rather one for the completionists only.
Saturday 14 September 2013
Wreck-It Ralph
Ever since 2001, when an Academy Award for best animated feature was first awarded, animated films have been undergoing a mini-renaissance. Now that a shiny gold statue is up for grabs, most studios have started releasing more and more animations of greater quality, and encroaching on what was almost solely the preserve of Disney. If the award had been given for the entire life of the Oscars, Disney would surely have multiple wins, but since it dates to a more modern age the past masters of the animated film have yet to take home the statue. (This is largely down to the dominance of Pixar studios. Disney, realising when they were licked, purchased Pixar in 2006).
The most recent contender from Walt Disney Animation Studios was Wreck-It Ralph, which managed a sixth nomination for the studio, but again lost out on the big prize to Pixar's Brave. Had I had a vote, I'm not sure which I would have chosen. Unfortunately this is because whilst both films are good, neither is truly great in the way that some of the previous winners have been.
Anyway, what of the film itself? It tells the tale of Ralph, who has the misfortune to be the bad guy in an arcade game named Fix-It Felix. Lonely and frustrated after 30 years of villainy and ostracised from the other inhabitants of the game, he embarks upon a quest to earn a hero's medal of his own. There are plenty of little in-jokes and Easter eggs for geeks like me to spot (Leeroy Jenkins graffiti!) especially in the opening half hour or so. Disney really hit the bullseye by licensing an extensive background cast of actual video game characters. Whilst it would have been easy to populate the background with knock off characters that alluded to the classics, by using real characters the world feels much more authentic.
Unfortunately the middle third of the film, when Ralph begins exploring the worlds of other games really sags. The sequence in the Hero's Duty particularly feels underdone, merely an excuse to inject a MacGuffin of motivation for Ralph. It is ironic that the representation of the most hi-def, up to date titles feels most two dimensional. The candy themed Sugar Rush kart racing title also fails to quite hit the mark, although is more fleshed out than Hero's Duty.
Thankfully by the final third things pick up again, although the traditional Disney saccharine moral-of-the-story parts are particularly egregious in the environs of the candy kingdom. In the end, this will be a great film for kids, and there is enough here for geeks to enjoy, but this is by no means compulsory viewing.
The most recent contender from Walt Disney Animation Studios was Wreck-It Ralph, which managed a sixth nomination for the studio, but again lost out on the big prize to Pixar's Brave. Had I had a vote, I'm not sure which I would have chosen. Unfortunately this is because whilst both films are good, neither is truly great in the way that some of the previous winners have been.
Anyway, what of the film itself? It tells the tale of Ralph, who has the misfortune to be the bad guy in an arcade game named Fix-It Felix. Lonely and frustrated after 30 years of villainy and ostracised from the other inhabitants of the game, he embarks upon a quest to earn a hero's medal of his own. There are plenty of little in-jokes and Easter eggs for geeks like me to spot (Leeroy Jenkins graffiti!) especially in the opening half hour or so. Disney really hit the bullseye by licensing an extensive background cast of actual video game characters. Whilst it would have been easy to populate the background with knock off characters that alluded to the classics, by using real characters the world feels much more authentic.
Unfortunately the middle third of the film, when Ralph begins exploring the worlds of other games really sags. The sequence in the Hero's Duty particularly feels underdone, merely an excuse to inject a MacGuffin of motivation for Ralph. It is ironic that the representation of the most hi-def, up to date titles feels most two dimensional. The candy themed Sugar Rush kart racing title also fails to quite hit the mark, although is more fleshed out than Hero's Duty.
Thankfully by the final third things pick up again, although the traditional Disney saccharine moral-of-the-story parts are particularly egregious in the environs of the candy kingdom. In the end, this will be a great film for kids, and there is enough here for geeks to enjoy, but this is by no means compulsory viewing.
Friday 13 September 2013
Paths of Glory
War films usually fall into one of two camps. The first is the gung-ho, war as adventure pro war film, with plenty of explosions, feats of derring-do and lantern jawed heroes. The second is the more sombre war-is-hell anti-war film showing all the horrors, the deaths, the disfigurements and the loss of humanity to be found on the battlefield. Paths of Glory is one of those curious films that can show how both these attitudes can coexist, whilst firmly falling on the side of anti-war.
Telling the story of French soldiers in the trenches of World War I, the film manages this feat in a very clever way. Whilst many war films focus on a soldier or small group of soldiers to tell its story, PoG widens its focus to show us the contrast between the war experiences of the grunts on the ground with those of the Generals, well behind the front lines. The contrast could not be more stark. The soldiers in the trenches encounter a dirty, hellish existence, literally living in holes carved from the ground, under constant artillery barrage and metres from a corpse strewn no-mans land. Meanwhile, the Generals occupy opulent palatial ballrooms, festooned with expensive paintings and outfitted with the very finest of furnishings.
This contrast is where we can observe how this difference in realities can lead to decisions, made in clear conscience, which leads to the senseless slaughter of thousands of men in the trenches. The generals decide to capture the "Anthill", a heavily defended area of German territory. This decision comes in full acceptance of casualties to over 50% of their own troops, and without much thought to the reality of whether their already battle weary troops could accomplish their impossible task. That these decisions are made for the progression of the Generals' own careers only confirms our disgust.
We then see the troops undertaking the assault, which of course fails miserably, with great casualties being suffered. Straddling the divide between the separate worlds of command and operations is Kirk Douglas' Colonel Dax. When men under his command are accused of cowardice in the face of the enemy, Dax defends them personally, and is the only character to truly understand both realities. It is Dax's human responses to the horrors he has to face that allows this film to firmly fall in the anti-war camp.
Paths of Glory is arguably the first great film Stanley Kubrick made, and started a run of probably unparalleled genius in the Cinema of the second half of the 20th century. Often overlooked in the face of his better known and more lauded pictures, PoG remains a tightly wound and exceptional picture. In these ages where men in comfortable rooms continue to make decisions that lead to the senseless slaughter of thousands of soldiers and civilians, and all for their own personal gain, it endures as a film as alive and relevant today as it was in 1957.
Telling the story of French soldiers in the trenches of World War I, the film manages this feat in a very clever way. Whilst many war films focus on a soldier or small group of soldiers to tell its story, PoG widens its focus to show us the contrast between the war experiences of the grunts on the ground with those of the Generals, well behind the front lines. The contrast could not be more stark. The soldiers in the trenches encounter a dirty, hellish existence, literally living in holes carved from the ground, under constant artillery barrage and metres from a corpse strewn no-mans land. Meanwhile, the Generals occupy opulent palatial ballrooms, festooned with expensive paintings and outfitted with the very finest of furnishings.
This contrast is where we can observe how this difference in realities can lead to decisions, made in clear conscience, which leads to the senseless slaughter of thousands of men in the trenches. The generals decide to capture the "Anthill", a heavily defended area of German territory. This decision comes in full acceptance of casualties to over 50% of their own troops, and without much thought to the reality of whether their already battle weary troops could accomplish their impossible task. That these decisions are made for the progression of the Generals' own careers only confirms our disgust.
We then see the troops undertaking the assault, which of course fails miserably, with great casualties being suffered. Straddling the divide between the separate worlds of command and operations is Kirk Douglas' Colonel Dax. When men under his command are accused of cowardice in the face of the enemy, Dax defends them personally, and is the only character to truly understand both realities. It is Dax's human responses to the horrors he has to face that allows this film to firmly fall in the anti-war camp.
Paths of Glory is arguably the first great film Stanley Kubrick made, and started a run of probably unparalleled genius in the Cinema of the second half of the 20th century. Often overlooked in the face of his better known and more lauded pictures, PoG remains a tightly wound and exceptional picture. In these ages where men in comfortable rooms continue to make decisions that lead to the senseless slaughter of thousands of soldiers and civilians, and all for their own personal gain, it endures as a film as alive and relevant today as it was in 1957.
Thursday 12 September 2013
City Lights
When I first started seriously trying to knock down the IMDB top 250, probably the films that gave me the most pause were the smattering of silent classics. Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Fritz Lang and Harold Lloyd all sounded more like homework than fun. Surely these films from the twenties and early thirties would have dated hideously, of interest to a film historian but not poor old me.
I finally bit the bullet and sat down to watch Chaplin's The Kid. I was instantly transported to a world of pure entertainment, and was cured of my aversion to silents. Since then I have caught other candidates when I can, with the venerable Astor Theatre being my loyal companion in this quest.
The most recent addition to this marvellous cavalcade of whimsy was Chaplin's City Lights. Released in 1931, when the talkies had taken off and silent films were going the way of the dodo, City Lights remained a massive financial and critical success, cementing Chaplin's place as one of the masters of silent film. That it remains an early masterpiece of the romantic comedy genre is testament to his genius as writer, director and star.
It tells the story of his iconic Tramp character, who meets a blind flower seller, and is instantly and irredeemably smitten. Through a series of misfortunes, the girl believes the poor tramp to be a millionaire, a façade he tries to maintain in order to woo her successfully. The remainder of the piece follows his various adventures as he keeps the charade going, whilst befriending the real millionaire and trying to raise funds for a revolutionary operation to restore the girl's sight. The final scene where the girl, sight restored, meets the tramp for the first time and sees him for who he really is remains one of the most touching, honest and sweet scenes committed to film to this day.
I could go on and on about this marvellous movie. The virtuoso boxing sequences is one of the finest silent comedy sequences I have seen, fully the equal to the cannon sequence in Keaton's The General and Chaplin's own factory sequence in Modern Times. If you haven't seen any Chaplin yet, this is a terrific place to start, particularly because none of the set pieces have really entered the cultural consciousness in the way that parts of Modern Times have. This is a vital and alive film, and one of the cinema's enduring greats.
I finally bit the bullet and sat down to watch Chaplin's The Kid. I was instantly transported to a world of pure entertainment, and was cured of my aversion to silents. Since then I have caught other candidates when I can, with the venerable Astor Theatre being my loyal companion in this quest.
The most recent addition to this marvellous cavalcade of whimsy was Chaplin's City Lights. Released in 1931, when the talkies had taken off and silent films were going the way of the dodo, City Lights remained a massive financial and critical success, cementing Chaplin's place as one of the masters of silent film. That it remains an early masterpiece of the romantic comedy genre is testament to his genius as writer, director and star.
It tells the story of his iconic Tramp character, who meets a blind flower seller, and is instantly and irredeemably smitten. Through a series of misfortunes, the girl believes the poor tramp to be a millionaire, a façade he tries to maintain in order to woo her successfully. The remainder of the piece follows his various adventures as he keeps the charade going, whilst befriending the real millionaire and trying to raise funds for a revolutionary operation to restore the girl's sight. The final scene where the girl, sight restored, meets the tramp for the first time and sees him for who he really is remains one of the most touching, honest and sweet scenes committed to film to this day.
I could go on and on about this marvellous movie. The virtuoso boxing sequences is one of the finest silent comedy sequences I have seen, fully the equal to the cannon sequence in Keaton's The General and Chaplin's own factory sequence in Modern Times. If you haven't seen any Chaplin yet, this is a terrific place to start, particularly because none of the set pieces have really entered the cultural consciousness in the way that parts of Modern Times have. This is a vital and alive film, and one of the cinema's enduring greats.
Wednesday 11 September 2013
The Usual Suspects
The problem 'twist' movies often have is, if someone spoils the twist for you, your enjoyment of the entire film is often compromised. I still haven't forgiven the guy who spoiled the twist of The Sixth Sense for me the DAY AFTER it came out in the cinemas, directly after I told him I hadn't seen it and was really looking forward to it. What an ass.
This fact is the main point I put forward in defence of why I hadn't seen The Usual Suspects up until now. I won't spoil the twist here in case any of you folk haven't seen it yet yourselves, but I seem to recall reading the twist in the tail in a film magazine many years ago. Watching TUS then was more of a chore I thought, something I'd better get through to complete my IMDB top 250 quest.
Boy was I wrong. What a terrific movie. The Usual Suspects inhabits a grubby, grimy Los Angeles straight out of an old Noir movie. In fact it shares a lot of its DNA with the old Noir films. They were often made as 'B' pictures, using a bunch of character actors from around the studio lot quickly and cheaply. The resulting film would then be shown on the undercard of a double feature, with the main event starring the biggest movie stars the studio could muster. In many cases these grubby little noir films are now better remembered than the insipid star vehicles that followed.
Like its cinematic precursors, TUS eschews movie stars for a collection of well regarded character actors, and Stephen Baldwin. That's perhaps a little unkind, but we ARE talking about the man who was Barney Rubble in The Flintstones: Viva Rock Vegas, so I'll let it stand. Even Kevin Spacey couldn't be regarded as a leading man at this stage of his career, but the Oscar he won here for Best Supporting Actor started him on the path to where he is today. The lack of stars helps ground the film in its gritty cinematic world, and prevents proceedings turning into a mere action film or thriller.
The thing with the twist is that, despite knowing it, my enjoyment of the story wasn't lessened in any way. Sure it would've been great not to know, but the twist seems more like a cherry on the top of a particularly delicious sundae, as opposed to the entire raison d’être for the piece. The interrogation of Spacey's conman, Verbal Kint, by Chazz Palminteri's Customs Officer, Dave Kujan, is the heart of the piece. It gives us a coherent throughline to the whole piece, and also a reason to care. Kujan is the representative for the Audience's point of view. We know what he knows at all times, and his revelations are our own. The screenplay is absolutely terrific, and deservedly won writer Christopher McQuarrie an Oscar.
Apart from the screenplay, and some of the acting (Spacey and Palminteri especially), the rest of the building blocks are solid and workmanlike, if unspectacular. Somehow though, through a mystical cinematic alchemy, these blocks come together to form a magnificence greater than the sum of its parts. The Usual Suspects is a modern Noir classic, and I am a little ashamed it took me this long to discover it.
This fact is the main point I put forward in defence of why I hadn't seen The Usual Suspects up until now. I won't spoil the twist here in case any of you folk haven't seen it yet yourselves, but I seem to recall reading the twist in the tail in a film magazine many years ago. Watching TUS then was more of a chore I thought, something I'd better get through to complete my IMDB top 250 quest.
Boy was I wrong. What a terrific movie. The Usual Suspects inhabits a grubby, grimy Los Angeles straight out of an old Noir movie. In fact it shares a lot of its DNA with the old Noir films. They were often made as 'B' pictures, using a bunch of character actors from around the studio lot quickly and cheaply. The resulting film would then be shown on the undercard of a double feature, with the main event starring the biggest movie stars the studio could muster. In many cases these grubby little noir films are now better remembered than the insipid star vehicles that followed.
Like its cinematic precursors, TUS eschews movie stars for a collection of well regarded character actors, and Stephen Baldwin. That's perhaps a little unkind, but we ARE talking about the man who was Barney Rubble in The Flintstones: Viva Rock Vegas, so I'll let it stand. Even Kevin Spacey couldn't be regarded as a leading man at this stage of his career, but the Oscar he won here for Best Supporting Actor started him on the path to where he is today. The lack of stars helps ground the film in its gritty cinematic world, and prevents proceedings turning into a mere action film or thriller.
The thing with the twist is that, despite knowing it, my enjoyment of the story wasn't lessened in any way. Sure it would've been great not to know, but the twist seems more like a cherry on the top of a particularly delicious sundae, as opposed to the entire raison d’être for the piece. The interrogation of Spacey's conman, Verbal Kint, by Chazz Palminteri's Customs Officer, Dave Kujan, is the heart of the piece. It gives us a coherent throughline to the whole piece, and also a reason to care. Kujan is the representative for the Audience's point of view. We know what he knows at all times, and his revelations are our own. The screenplay is absolutely terrific, and deservedly won writer Christopher McQuarrie an Oscar.
Apart from the screenplay, and some of the acting (Spacey and Palminteri especially), the rest of the building blocks are solid and workmanlike, if unspectacular. Somehow though, through a mystical cinematic alchemy, these blocks come together to form a magnificence greater than the sum of its parts. The Usual Suspects is a modern Noir classic, and I am a little ashamed it took me this long to discover it.
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