The Walking Dead Season 4 Episode 1 Review

“Previously on AMC’s Breaki---” Hold on a minute, that brief sound clip will never again be heard on live television. AMC has said goodbye to the Vince Gilligan masterpiece but still retains the likes of Mad Men and The Walking Dead. Whereas Mad Men has a more niche audience, The Walking Dead grows ever-popular, with a group of geeks in adoration of their favourite characters (we’re looking at you, Daryl). With that in mind, The Walking Dead’s fourth season started with a 16.11 million viewership, the highest it’s ever had. It will never see the same hype as something like Breaking Bad, though its continual effort to be seen than something more than just “that zombie TV show” is very commendable. Season 4 begins in a far less exciting manner than the third season’s opening, yet is still able to have us completely transfixed.  

Major spoilers follow

AMC’s catalogue of soundtracks eclipses most other networks. Thomas Golubic, “30 Days Without an Accident’s” music supervision begins the episode, with a little ditty: “Precious Moments” by The Stanley Brothers. The irony is palpable – as Rick takes out the headphone buds, the sound shifts to that of growling, scratching Walkers – that memories in the Walking Dead’s world are mostly cutting as reality becomes filled with the undead. Golubic had also worked on Breaking Bad and Six Feet Under (to name just two), a great crew member, able to make a scene work on music worth alone. It sets up the workaday nature of the new colony, with that eerie quality that no matter how cheery you can try to be, death still surrounds everything.

Apart from the brief musical epilogue, season 4 starts with a harrowing image of an eyeless zombie “watching” Rick. Bleeding eyes and absent pupils, it sends a jolt through you; the work of the show’s master make-up team. Foreboding and distressing for relatively unknown reasons (as the show’s audience has grown used to the macabre), it is a moment than seems very definitive – an omen of what to come.

So in the six/seven months since we left off apparently a fair few things have happened. These mostly relate to relationships forming and duties assigned. Tyreese is with a beautiful woman named Karen, Beth is with a muscular newcomer called Zack, and Carol and Daryl may or may not be a couple. In addition, Everybody Hates Chris’ Vincent Martella shows up as Patrick, who will become the final moment’s most integral part. Lastly, established characters get given some development, such as Bob (The Wire’s Lawrence Gilliard Jr.), Michonne (returning from unsucessfully hunting “him” – the Governor), and Daryl (as much of a celebrity within the show as he is outside of it).

In terms of hunting, there are no suspecting villains ready to find and kill (though you can bet the Governor will return) so it’s only food needing the group’s time and effort. Hershel and Rick head out into the forest for game and vegetation whilst Daryl, Tyreese, Zack, Bob, Glen and Michonne go looting a supermarket. As Hershel leaves Rick, our protagonist stumbles on a starving, filthy survivor out in the woods. Greyed and skinny, she reeks of desperation and pity. Rick, helpful as ever, offers her food and a chance to bring her back to the prison.

Rick’s stint with the stinky Irish woman is a slightly confusing part of the episode – Clara takes him to her camp (for an interview situation, where Rick will determine whether Clara and her husband are safe for his sanctuary) where he finds her talking to a head under a blanket. Not easily distinguishable under that cloth, the decapitated husband is a mere mystery until a brief shot at the end of the scene. Her reasoning and emotions are somewhat baffling – her will to survive until meeting Rick and then offing herself. Rick stands there upset and perplexed by her motivations, finally asking her the interview questions that have only slight bearing on the poignancy of the programme. Her story would have been quite interesting to have learnt about – an exile of her homeland, carrying the head of her husband around, surviving on barely anything – but she’s dropped after such little screen time. Fans of the show should know this to be realistic and in-keeping with Kirkman’s universe, but on occasions there are missteps – Clara being one of them. 

Meanwhile, Daryl and company head to the store. Starting off fairly lacklustre, the camera pans up from the door they entered in to the roof – packed with zombies and a crashed helicopter.  It’s nothing jaw-dropping, nor is it when Bob makes a ruckus toppling a shelf full of alcohol (a great piece of storytelling where we realise Bob’s an alcoholic, faced with a haul of free wine). However, the damp, sunken tarp, holding the weight of 20 or so bodies and a helicopter means the undead fall through into the shop. Bob’s liquid temptresses become a danger not only to himself but those around him – an implicit part of the episode’s drama and action.

As the hoard drop from the ceilings the scene suddenly goes from tedious to tense. The effects and stunt work usually have their shining moment at some point in an episode and this is it. Just before the break, one zombie falls to the camera (a skewed POV shot of Bob’s), growling as he heads into focus. Put simply: it looks fucking cool.

Effects work are similarly superb, with purely gross moments of gore. Skin ripping away, heads being pealed apart and explosions of impact on the decrepit bodies are each scarily real. It adds to the electricity of the moment, where everything seems too messy.   

Daryl and Glen – two key players in the cast – have their moments of peril, worrying for a show that is known for killing off anybody. Fortunately they survive, something that cannot be said for Zack. As the helicopter looms over the crumbling roof, there is no time to save him and the only saving grace from it all is the helicopter would instantly smush him. 

“30 Days Without an Accident” gets its name from Beth’s reaction to Zack’s death. Not “crying anymore” – changing her X amount of “days without an accident” sign back to zero. Her maturity in accepting his death follows the tone of the developing show – now news such as Maggie not being pregnant, Tyreese fearful of walkers in most situations and Rick’s constant fear of losing people is dealt with more philosophically.

The Walking Dead can be the best thing on TV, and merely average other times. Season four shows plenty of promise, without being a game-changer. It’s the final shot – the cliff-hanger – that means business. Patrick, coughing and sweaty, stumbles to the bathroom where upon he drops dead. Closing his bleeding eyes (like that of the eyeless zombie outside), he lies there deceased. Until, of course, those eyelids open once again, revealing the smoky glaze of his lifeless pupils. He’s a walker, inside the sanctuary, probably set to cause some trouble. Episode 2, we’re waiting...

Also posted on Flickering Myth

The Wicker Man Final Cut Review

Director: Robin Hardy

Writer: Antony Shaffer

Starring: Edward Woodward, Christopher Lee, Diane Cilento, Britt Ekland, Ingrid Pitt

Synopsis: Police sergeant Howie (Woodward) is sent to a remote Scottish island to search for a missing girl. His inquiry proves fruitless once he realises the whole town seems to covering something up.

For the meme generation, the passing mention of The Wicker Man will more likely involve people shouting, “Aaahh, the bees!” than someone commenting on the classic 1973 horror. Aspects of Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man have aged, it must be said, overshadowed somewhat by Nicolas Cage’s modern remake. To stress, overshadowed in the sense that Cage’s version was so absurdly awful it’s distinctly soured the title.

The rerelease of the original aims to rid the memory of the remake, an ambition easily accomplished. The restored version (having been reviewed on DVD) is not as magnificent as more recent restorations. It has enhanced the sound and removed the scratches, but colour grading is not as polished as would be desired.  The special features and the trinity of versions included in the new release is the defining aspect – a final, complete, Wicker Man.

The Director’s Cut runs wonderfully smooth – without the jagged flashbacks and clumsy editing seen in previous versions – a triumphant example of the mystery/detective narrative. As normal as the form appears, what is included within it is not. The film features an island of folk-loving townspeople, who are bound together by paganism unknown to the tragic Howie character.

Woodward as the pious and stoic lead is terrific. Dogged and doomed, he leads us through a series of interviews with the islanders, leaving the audience to pick up on things he doesn’t see. As the patsy, he gains immediate empathy, with the end bitterly upsetting. Christopher Lee as his foil has little screen-time and achieves a mysterious quality perfectly fitting for the film. It seems that even as the end answers some questions, Lee’s Summerisle is still a questionable figure. You get the satisfaction of knowing and liking one character, and despising and querying the other. Woodward and Lee made a superb hero/villain duo, immortalised by their only cinematic coupling in The Wicker Man.

Heralded the best British horror film by many, The Wicker Man does indeed boast an exemplary script (by Sleuth author, Antony Shaffer) and impeccable direction. Woodward and Lee are characteristically brilliant and the atmosphere each man creates (insecurity and danger, for example) is timeless. The film will last for decades to come (even if some of the Morris dancing and folk chants do not), now serviced with its “definitive” legacy.

****

Also posted on Flickering Myth

Runner Runner Review

Director: Brad Furman

Writers: Brian Koppelman, David Levien

Starring: Justin Timberlake, Ben Affleck, Gemma Arterton

Synopsis: Talented and involved with gambling, Rickie (Timberlake) decides to bet for his entire university funds. At the end of the long game he loses and thinks it’s all foul play. Seeking out the owner of the poker website Ivan Block, (Affleck) he makes a good impression and becomes one of Block’s employees. Swimming with sharks, Rickie starts seeing red waters and sensing danger to a point where he starts questioning his new lifestyle.

Taking on the odds is a risk few care to take. At the core of Runner Runner’s thematic is the party-life and perils of gambling. It’s a dark premise lightened by sunny, sexy sheen of the film, yet maintaining some elements of authentic tension and malice.

Perhaps unbelievable for some cinema-goers, the best feature of Runner Runner is man-of-the-moment Ben Affleck. He adds the aforementioned malice, playing a seemingly charitable casino owner (yes, that oxymoronic quality works) who uses his power cruelly at points. Affleck has not played a villain for a number of years and it’s clear to see him relishing the opportunity. There’s a casual cockiness to his performance, easing back from his multi-awarding winning directorial efforts with a persistent smirk. Affleck as the supporting actor will be under a lot of scrutiny – this being his first role since the Batman announcement – and this extraneous aspect is actually quite fun to think about during the film. He pulls everything off and gets many of the best lines and scenes so it’ll hopefully put a halt to all the hate.

On the whole it seems all cast members are relishing the high-budget and location work. Whereas this type of money-laden project would result in some laziness (acting, directing, editing, etc) everyone seems on form here. Timberlake continues to prove his multi-million dollar worth both in music and acting, leading the film confidently. It may be that it’s not a humongous stretch for him to play a young go-getter but there’s never a misstep in his acting. Arguably, he gets very few demanding scenes but that’s a wrong on the writer’s half rather than his.

The third and most glamorous cast member is Gemma Arterton. Very British in her ways (with a brief mention of beans and toasts added in for her character), Arterton never seems out of place in the glitzy Hollywood startlett role. If anything, she overshadows past American actresses attempting the same. Her style of acting is subtle and sincere, whilst her beauty is enhanced only by sublime genes and some (possibly fake) tanning. Whether or not her character was originally penned as a token dame, Arterton adds strength and depth. It’s a shame that she is eclipsed by various plot points that don’t involve her as her screen presence boils down to a measly 40 or so minutes.

Plot-wise the film is slightly above average. It’s exploring multifaceted criminality but, like most Hollywood dramas, dilutes it down for a general demographic. The stars will be enough to draw in the crowds and for that reason the writers and director have subtracted a lot of the profound elements. So for an easy, entertaining watch it’ll check most of the boxes.

***

Also posted on LiveForFilms

Machete Kills Review

Director: Robert Rodriguez

Writer: Kyle Ward

Starring: Danny Trejo, Michelle Rodriguez, Demian Bichir, Mel Gibson, Amber Heard, Sofia Vergara, Charlie Sheen, Lady Gaga, Antonio Banderas, Walton Goggins, Cuba Gooding Jr.

Synopsis: Machete (Trejo) is hired by the President of the United States (Sheen) to stop an arms dealer in Mexico intent on launching a missile at the US. Once he finds him, he discovers a larger criminal underground...and outer-space...ground!

It’s no surprise to see Machete back on our screens; at the end of Machete we were promised a return of the Mexican legend in Machete Kills and Machete Kills Again! It is a wonder, however, that Robert Rodriguez has decided to set his attention on the scratchy, blood-soaked B-movie once more. That said, from someone who made Desperado, From Dusk Till Dawn and Sin City has additionally directed all three Spy Kids movies. He isn’t someone to pass down a sequel, however ridiculous it looks in his filmography. This continuation of the fake-trailer-turned-movie was made at a budget of $20 million, a high cost for brief side-splitting inanity in amongst pure trash.

Realistically, most of that $20 million went toward the cast of huge names. There is little else to show for it with effects and basic filmmaking lowered to sub-standards. It’s easy to say, “It looks bad for a reason – that’s its aesthetic”, but whereas Machete mostly aimed at visual ineffectiveness, this one looks as though it’s trying to appear cleaner, with a script noticeably lousy. It ends up looking like a film of the 1950s desperately trying to look epic, crossed with the appearance of a grand 21^st century blockbuster.

Set-pieces, the cast, the violence, and the jokes are all overstated – it perfects the “bigger, bolder, better” essence of a sequel. Machete was a terrible film, and so is this, but it is enjoyable. A guilty pleasure in every drop of its (extremely) red blood, many will find this frenetic follow-up unaccountably amazing. Losing yourself is the trick to sticking with it – ignore every ethical and rational oversight and it’s bearable.

Majorly helping the film are select members of the cast clearly enjoying letting themselves go. Oscar winning and nominated actors such as Demian Bichir, Mel Gibson, Walton Goggins and Cuba Gooding Jr. are simply brilliant in their respective roles. The former, especially, brings such energy to the film he basically steals the show. Other notable inclusions such as Charlie Sheen and Antonio Banderas bring a certain charm to the film – with Sheen as PotUS so wonderfully tongue-in-cheek.

Having the story actually go somewhere (a path clearly defined by the trailer for the third film as the prologue) helps somewhat too. There is a goal and incentive written in (surprisingly) so it doesn’t zigzag all over the place. If the first film was foreplay for the climatic third entry, this film is a steady shag.

Machete Kills does what it sets out to do, so marks for its self-referential absurdity. It may highlight money and time misspent – made for fans only – but its impishness has a certain worth. If you can’t like it or love it whatsoever, just think: one more film and it’ll all be over...maybe.

**

Also posted on LiveForFilms

The Lone Ranger Review

Director: Gore Verbinski

Writers: Ted Elliott, Terry Rossio, Justin Haythe

Starring: Armie Hammer, Johnny Depp, William Fichtner, Tom Wilkinson, Ruth Wilson, Helena Bonham Carter, Barry Pepper, James Badge Dale

Synopsis:  After his brother is killed, John Reid (Hammer) seeks vengeance. On his journey he finds Tonto (Depp), similarly on a quest, and the two team up to fight injustice and conspiracy in the American West.

Forgotten for many years, stuck in development hell for a decade, The Lone Ranger seemed destined to stay remembered only as the early incarnations. Casting and director rumours flew around for what seemed like ages (George Clooney was, at one point, down as the masked man) until we found ourselves watching Gore Verbinski tackle the classic adventure with Armie Hammer and Johnny Depp in the lead roles.

After Rango – a beautifully realised, surrealist Western for children (that must have been difficult to pitch!) – the prospect of Verbinski handling the epic American West with live-action and well-known characters seemed nothing to fret about. If anyone was destined to make The Lone Ranger Verbinski landed that role immediately after Rango. The final outcome is not up to par with his last film or the first Pirates of the Caribbean but it’s equally fun, silly and visually stunning.

Apart from Verbinski linking Pirates, Rango, and The Lone Ranger there is also the million-dollar name Johnny Depp attached to all three. A lucky charm for Verbinski and many others who have worked with him, Depp is not the lead here and, surprisingly, never steals the show. Try as he might to inject some odd humour and strange physicality to scenes, Tonto is quite clearly the sidekick. Armie Hammer may not have top-billing against someone like Depp but it’s tough to forget that this is his film. Even as Tonto recalls the story (the film bookended with the recollection), you are already accustomed to the Ranger’s iconography with the small child being told the story costumed up to look like the Lone hero.

John Reid has to become The Lone Ranger, much like Hammer has to become the lead. He’s not a familiar face to most audience members and has clearly got to earn that top billing title. Still, with his part in this that should never become a future issue as Hammer unquestionably delivers on his lead duties. Sets and set-pieces may be exuberant and costly-looking but the casting is not something to match the aesthetic expense. Sure, there are names like Depp and Helena Bonham Carter attached (though Carter gets perhaps one of the smallest parts) yet looking elsewhere you will find Tom Wilkinson, Ruth Wilson and William Fichtner. Cast your minds back (no pun intended) to the Pirates series and you had people not typically sort out for big blockbusters. Even Depp at that stage was a curious addition to a Disney film, a place in Hollywood that now seems nothing but ordinary. It’s Verbinski’s incentive that sees these huge films Barry Peppered with character actors; it work wonders to not be momentarily distracted every time a recognisable face appears.

Casting his worlds is never what garners the greatest attention Verbinski seems to take, arguably. In his films he dresses and designs his diegetic landscape with meticulous detail. Some many shots show the tiniest of details (from dirt under fingernails, the smear of lipstick, to the fine silverware of an elegant table) that are absolutely stunning. That level of attention for the mise-en-scène is seldom seen in contemporary cinema, mostly reminiscent of classic directors such as Douglas Sirk and Nicholas Ray. On top of set-design and costume, Verbinski has equally focused on the surrounding environment. The Fordian backdrops of Monument Valley, Leone-styled train station scenes and postcard pictorials of the old West are captured beautifully by cinematographer Bojan Bazelli.

The reminder to all those famed Westerns has not been incorporated accidentally, working towards the film’s greatest asset – the revitalisation of classic adventures and Westerns. Take the film seriously and you fail to see the enjoyment of it all. There are moments where the writers can’t help impart some historical significance and these only occasionally work. A horrific massacre shown mid-way through of a tribe of Comanches is shocking and powerful; what does not help is ignorance towards that destruction when a joke about a horse quickly follows after. This as the purest example of two tones not blending together, yet Verbinski is mainly set on thrills and comedy.

It’s never laugh-out-loud funny, possibly due to the partnership of Hammer and Depp taking an hour to achieve a noticeable chemistry. Nevertheless, there comes a point in the film where the William Tell score/Lone Ranger theme erupts, the Lone Ranger and Tonto pounce into action and excitement pulsates through you. The big set-pieces are often stunning (with the final fight incredibly well story-boarded and executed), constantly keeping you entertained.

As much as the early scenes can be enjoyed with the Lone Ranger and Tonto, its about them so some may struggle with the first hour. The relationship with the Lone Ranger and Tonto takes its time to germinate, though it does end with a strong bond between the two. It deserves its sequel to expand on the pair along with Verbinski’s gorgeous depiction of the West. Conversely, it deserves to continue on with the tradition it’s campaigning for – the classic adventure with heroes, sidekicks, villains, love interests and escapades.

The violence maybe a little too strong for younger audiences (12A being a tame certificate for some scenes) and the aforementioned love interest may not mean much, yet this is a kids’ film that relishes the inanity and action. Much like the boy being told the story in the film, this will give children a new hero to worship (together with a new Halloween outfit for the parents to buy) and a genre and figure they may have only heard about from their grandparents.

****

Also posted on LiveForFilms

O Brother, Where Art Thou? and the Struggle to be Bona Fide

This essay is a companion-piece to a previous essay I wrote about A Serious Man. Both essays are adapted from chapters of my BA dissertation on the Coen brothers. Major spoilers ahead.

Joel and Ethan Coen's 2000 film O Brother, Where Art Thou? is one of the directors' most purely entertaining, crowd-pleasing movies. It's funny, smart, and has an amazing soundtrack, but what's probably less obvious about the film – or at least, less lauded – is the fact that it also engages with some important and uncomfortable questions about the era it depicts, and more specifically the relationship the United States has with its own history. Much like The Hudsucker Proxy before it, O Brother uses our culturally-informed impressions of an era to examine the values of that time, but goes on to explore how our perception of that time was itself constructed.

It's difficult to attempt an analysis of O Brother, Where Art Thou? without first addressing the influence of two other works on the film – Homer's The Odyssey and Preston Sturges' classic comedy Sullivan's Travels. The influence of the latter is as follows. Sullivan's Travels is about a successful director of comedies who plans to make a serious, socially-conscious drama film called O Brother, Where Art Thou?. After he is arrested for assault, Sullivan and his fellow convicts are treated to a Mickey Mouse cartoon projected in a church (a scene which finds its analogue when Pete's chain-gang show up in the cinema in O Brother), prompting him to decide that pleasing the masses with entertainment is the greatest kindness he can do for the poor – a populist sentiment shared by the Coens' film. In the film's DVD commentary, Joel Coen went so far as to say their film is the one Sullivan would have gone on to make. The influence of Homer's work is established in the opening titles, when we are presented with a rough translation of the opening lines of The Odyssey:

"O Muse!/Sing in me, and through me tell the story/Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending/A wanderer, harried for years on end..."

The most obvious elements cribbed from the epic poem are the general arc of a man trying to return home to his wife and several of the main characters. We have Ulysses Everett McGill (“Ulysses” being the Latin translation of “Odysseus”), his wife Penny standing in for Penelope, and Menelaus “Pappy” O'Daniel as King Menelaus. To name a few of the more oblique references, we have the one-eyed Bible salesman Big Dan Teague in lieu of Polyphemus the Cyclops, three seductresses for the Sirens, a blind railroad traveller as Tiresias the prophet, and a baptist congregation in place of the Lotus Eaters. 

The relative shallowness of correspondence between The Odyssey and O Brother is perhaps unsurprising given that the Coen brothers claim never to have read the original text, knowing it only from general pop culture and adaptations. Indeed, the debt the film owes to Homer's work never feels like it's “the point” of the film, nor is it slavish enough to really call it an adaptation or even a re-imagining. It seems like these references, rather than actually allowing us to interpret the film fruitfully, are more useful in setting up expectations. The Odyssey gives the film the register of an epic narrative and a structure which feels suitably mythic, even to those who may not pick up on the specific references – a register that alludes to a period in history, but is outside history itself. In fact, The Odyssey is not the only “myth” alluded to in the film. 

Notice, for example, the two black men carrying ice to the next town over which is seven miles away. Knowing that the ice will melt before they reach their destination, this image calls to mind the myths of both Sisyphus and Tantalus, while simultaneously depicting the economic hardship for black people in the depression. A more contemporary form of “myth” can be seen in Chris Thomas King's character Tommy Johnson, who claims to have sold his soul to the devil for superior guitar-playing ability. This refers to the real-life historical Tommy Johnson, and the perhaps better known Robert Johnson who were rumoured at the time to have done the same thing.

So despite how prominently these two works would appear to figure in O Brother Where Art Thou?, it would be a mistake to overestimate their significance, as the film actually makes reference to a large number of Depression-era cultural objects. As well as the use of The Odyssey as a blueprint for the narrative, the film also maps onto The Wizard of Oz in some interesting ways. Simple Delmar, clearly in need of a brain, shares the Scarecrow's galumphing arm-swinging run, and is rewarded at the film's end with a place in Governor Pappy O'Daniel's “Brain Trust”. Acerbic Pete is believed to be missing his heart when a toad is all that's left of him after the Sirens kidnap him for their bounty. Everett is Dorothy, finding his way home. Their journey takes them to a Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard, revealed to be the upcoming candidate for governor, Homer Stokes, whose political power crumbles upon exposure of his racist ideals. 

 

Steinbeck is evoked when a kid is defending his farm from “men from the bank” (The Grapes of Wrath) and in Delmar's maxim “you ain't no kind of man if you ain't got land” (Of Mice and Men). George Clooney himself appears to be modeled after Clark Gable. Less relevant but also interesting is when our heroes ride their coffins to safety after the flood, referencing the ending to Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Many of these references appear to express a common desire: to escape hardship by either returning home or reaching a promised land (whether in this life or the next) – a place of material comfort or economic plenty. The musical choices seem to express this too. “The Big Rock Candy Mountain” describes a hobo's vision of paradise, while “I'll Fly Away” expresses the wish to go to “God's celestial shore” and to get away from the “cold iron shackles”. By tying together all of these texts, the Coen brothers seem to be pointing towards a kind of cultural monomyth, a tempting name for which would be the American Dream. It's notable that the $1.2 million the Soggy Bottom Boys are chasing after turns out to be a myth too – one of Everett's design in order to convince his fellow convicts to escape with him.

This network of sources the Coens are drawing on is interesting because what it gives us is a view of the Depression-era South without ever really attempting to represent the period as an actual historical fact in itself. Rather, the film itself is constructed out of the detritus of the age it depicts – an assemblage of cultural material. The film never professes to really show us Mississippi in 1937, but rather our collective idea of what that place and time consists of as we know it through music, film, literature and myth – the only means we have to revisit the past.

For instance, notice the film's use of anachronism. At one point, Pete compares himself to Papillon, a French convict who was imprisoned at the time of the film's setting, but whose story would not be known until his memoir was released in 1969. Similarly, George “Babyface” Nelson makes an appearance in the film, even though the real historical Nelson died in 1934, three years before the film's setting. Nelson not only acknowledges his own status as a historical figure (“These little men caught off with the criminal of the century. Looks like the chair for George Nelson!”) but he even goes on to describe himself as “bigger than any John, live or limp”, as if to affirm his status as a cultural icon beyond his actual flesh-and-blood existence as a historical person. While it's perfectly possible that these were just oversights on the part of the Coens, it could be read that these elements were chosen for inclusion due to their relevance to the cultural era, even if they don't line up historically.

The other function these relics of the Depression serve is that they point towards issues of how history itself is constructed, in terms of what is retained through the ages, what is lost to the passage of time, and what is destroyed or re-written. The issue of posterity is in fact central to the plot, as Everett is not just trying to win back his wife, but also his place in history. Penny has told their children that Everett was “hit by that train” and reverted the family name back to “Wharvey”, thus eliminating Everett's legacy from historical record. His daughters compare him unfavourably to Penny's new suitor by dismissing him as “not bona fide”. Another instance of this selective view of Americas' history can be seen in Homer Stokes' speech at the KKK rally:

“We have all gathered here to preserve our hallowed culture and heritage from intrusion, inclusion and dilution of colour, of creed and of our old-time religion... darkies, Jews, papists, and from all them smart ass folks who say we come descended from monkies. That's not my culture and heritage”.

The prevalence of racism in O Brother is interesting because it creates a constant reminder of the region's not so distant slave-owning past while never directly addressing it (see for example the opening scene, featuring rows of exclusively black prisoners breaking up rocks on the roadside – free from slavery, yet still in chains). The assignation of the name “Homer” to the KKK leader seems particularly apt as, through his revisionist views, he could be said to take the role of a singular author of history, re-writing his own people as the victims. His exposure as a racist by being broadcast on radio – an emergent and more democratic mode of representation, spreading his word far and wide – could be therefore read as pointing to mass media (entertainment for the masses) as a vehicle for social justice and more truthful representation. It's notable that in O Brother, racism is not beaten by politics or a crusade for social justice – it's beaten only because the crowd want to hear the Soggy Bottom Boys sing.

If historical amnesia is shown to be desirable for America on the cultural level, it's shown to be even more alluring on the personal level. Of course, America is presented as the land of “forgive and forget” Christianity, where redemption and reinvention is in reach for everyone. The Soggy Bottom Boys are in fact purged of their sins three times over; first by God in the baptismal waters, the second time by the law when O'Daniel officially pardons them, and the third in the flood which saves them from the clutches of Sheriff Cooley. 

The flood in particular is a potent image, calling to mind the Great Deluge – the flood that drowned the wicked, flattened all that came before and restored everything back to year zero to begin anew. In the wake of the flood, relics of Depression-era Mississippi float by – a banjo, a Victrola, a photograph of a Confederate soldier – the only remnants of a world now beyond recovery, the cultural artefacts through which we can experience the past. The flood is not only redemptive for the characters, but also a clean break from history. As Everett himself helpfully explains:

“They're flooding this valley so they can hydroelectric up this whole damn state. Yes, sir, the south is gonna change. Everything's getting put on electricity and run on a paying basis. Out with the old spiritual mumbo jumbo, the superstitions and the backward ways. We're gonna see a brave new world when they run everyone a wire and hook us all up to a grid. Yes sir, a veritable age of reason. Like the one they had in France.”

This ending seems to suggest the beginning of the modern era – a time of record, knowability and science, not a time of superstition, myth and legend in which history can be buried or denied. However, the Coens quickly undermine this notion when Everett spots a cow on the roof of a cotton-house, as prophesied as the start of the film. As the film ends, we watch this same prophet pump his cart down the railway track while Everett's youngest daughter looks on as the image fades back to black and white. History will always be part-myth and part-fact, accessible only through what we leave behind, and what we choose to say of our time, but the Coens, in their usual populist mode, remind us of our own role in writing history, and urge us not to leave it to those who have a stake in denial or distortion. History is written by the winners, but we can all be bona fide.

About Time Review

Director/Writer: Richard Curtis

Starring: Domhnall Gleeson, Rachel McAdams, Bill Nighy, Lydia Wilson, Tom Hollander, Lindsay Duncan

Synopsis: Tim (Gleeson), a quiet, timid 21 year-old lives a mundane life with the notable lack of a girlfriend. Things begin to take shape once his father (Nighy) reveals the family men are able to travel through time. Tim quickly uses his inherited power to discover more about life and, most importantly, to find love.

Richard Curtis has long since departed from snappy satire in the form of Not the Nine O’Clock News and Blackadder; now associated with strings of soppy romantic comedies. Yet, whilst his seminal television work feels like a distant, beloved memory for some, there are others more than happy with his Four Weddings, Notting Hills and Love Actuallys. He has an honest and indefatigable passion for the theme of love that, for the ones who pine to see and feel it, makes for some entertaining films. About Time, his latest rumination on love – with added time travel to mix it up a bit – is quite wonderful. Whatever flaws the film holds are, in the end, nearly forgotten thanks to Gleeson, McAdams and Nighy and a touching exploration of a father/son relationship.

Domhnall Gleeson as the protagonist Tim makes a strong debut in this genre – much like Hugh Grant did way back in 1994 with Four Weddings and a Funeral. Without a hint of his thick Dublin accent, Gleeson embodies the bumbling, shy Brit character perfectly. An everyman in his appearance and personality, he quickly establishes a familiarity with the audience. The same can be said for the film’s opening – a brief introduction of the Lake family. Here Gleeson and Curtis’ script portray the normality that makes the English rom-coms so accessible from the get-go.

With the pleasant English countryside and genial family members spotlighted the film then moves on to its hidden card in its cuff – the main character’s power to travel through time. Time travel has been continually tricky to pull off effectively in film and television and for About Time the errors and ellipsis still remain. However, Curtis has ignored some rules and added some of his own – the apparent lack of the Butterfly Effect but with certain restrictions concerning genetics. As Tim so often states, his abilities are often left by the way side in favour of living in life’s moments. About Time merely uses the time travel element to highlight the importance of “now”. When Tim flashes back and forth through his life it’s generally interesting and enjoyable but most appealing is his damnation of re-living events and focusing on the unknown future and a second-by-second existence.

With a strong core message the film is genuinely uplifting. Its other agreeable quality is the band of main actors. Gleeson is, as mentioned, a great screen presence with an innate charm and wit (aided by Curtis’ own pen). To know nothing about Gleeson and McAdams and to see only them holding hands would be tough to imagine; not that certain people can’t be matched but they do appear leagues apart. Original casting had Zooey Deschanel as his love interest – a choice that whilst agreeable would not hold a candle to Rachel McAdams. McAdams is one of the most divine women of contemporary cinema – down-to-earth and gorgeous. Nevertheless, personality and voice blend tremendously together and there is never a moment where you question their pairing. Third billing goes to Nighy as Tim’s father. He initiates the narrative by telling Tim about his gift – a scene that should be laughable and unbelievable neatly written and acted. Nighy is Curtis' lucky rabbit's foot, continually adding worth to each film he's written into. Whereas you'd expect McAdams to generate the film's emotion, it's actually Nighy who earns that role, brilliantly molding the film from behind the curtain more or less.

As much as McAdams lights up the screen, the film shifts from her focus to that of Nighy and Lydia Wilson’s tragic sister. This switch happens two thirds of the way through, turning the film from a romantic comedy into a heartfelt drama. Some may dislike the jarring change though they may be the ones not completely invested in the humanity of the story. Tim and his father share a bond commonly seen in families, with the added time travel skill that draws them closer together; sharing that much they have a beautifully strong relationship. By the end when time travel starts to prove difficult Tim spends more time with his knowledgeable Dad, there is a narrative crux that triumphantly brings tears to the audiences’ eyes*.

The beauty of family, life and love are profoundly explored in some of About Time’s runtime. The fun time travelling element may not be used as regularly in some viewers’ opinions though to see beyond that is the film’s most precious attribute. It’s heart-warming and smooshy, sure, but it’s also poignant and sincere. Most definitely the year’s best romantic comedy and (if it’s to be believed) a delightful directorial sign-off for Curtis.

****

  

*There weren’t many dry eyes in the screening I went to

Also posted on LiveForFilms