Another failure, albeit a more curious and diverting failure than "The Pyramid". There is, at least, some sense of purpose here, some distant echoes of Golding's thunderous vision, even if the work falls far short of his best, both as a whole and in detail.
The problem is simply that none of these three novellas hangs together. They're listless and sketchy, lacking the physical definition and psychological potency of which he's capable. "The Scorpion God" itself feels flat and academic, even dusty, and never really thrusts you into the heart of the primitive civilisation that it describes. It's partly redeemed by a powerful ending, but even so, the reader remains on the margins, at a safe distance.
"Envoy Extraordinary" is even worse, a confused mess that can't decide what it wants to be, and spends an awful lot of time wading around in murky farce as a consequence. Again, the ending is sharp enough: it doesn't really belong to the story - a bright idea tacked on as an after-thought - but it's some reward for your effort.
In the middle, the hunter-gatherer society of "Clonk Clonk" is most successfully realised, most vivid in the mind's eye. It feels like Golding, mercifully. But then, ironically, he blows the ending completely: it just fizzles out, a half-hearted joke left behind to fill the embarrassed silence.
A great novelist. Really. But my word, his peaks are matched by some pretty testing troughs....
29 December 2005
17 December 2005
Film review: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
It is, you quickly remember, a wonderful story. Indeed, it's so bright and vivid that the mental pictures still remain from childhood reading, drifting easily into the mind's eye as the familiar tale unfolds. Such is the imaginative wealth that there's plenty of room for multiple interpretations; a great shame, therefore, that Tim Burton's version fails to live up to its obvious promise.
Even more so, because it starts so perfectly. The opening parts of the story were always among the most compelling anyway, much more human than the extravagant morality tale that takes place in the factory. And Burton's direction is just magical: brilliantly capturing the characters and their world with his unique touch, at once traditional and wildly creative, and building up tantalising anticipation. There's a vital warmth about it, about the old folk tucked up in their bed, about the dreams of the golden ticket. It is the book, brought to life.
And then it all goes a bit, er, wonky. Naturally, Burton runs riot as soon as the gates open, but it's all too fast, all too rushed. It feels as if we've barely set foot in the factory before, with some regret, we're smashing through the glass ceiling and up into the sky. The result is something that entertains well enough; Johnny Depp's distinctly Jackson-inspired, slightly melancholic turn is terrific, even if the songs get bogged down in unnecessary pastiche. But the real disappointment, rather ironically, is that it loses the magic that it conjured up outside the factory walls.
In a sense, that's the moral of the story. But it's surely not quite as either Dahl or Burton intended.
Even more so, because it starts so perfectly. The opening parts of the story were always among the most compelling anyway, much more human than the extravagant morality tale that takes place in the factory. And Burton's direction is just magical: brilliantly capturing the characters and their world with his unique touch, at once traditional and wildly creative, and building up tantalising anticipation. There's a vital warmth about it, about the old folk tucked up in their bed, about the dreams of the golden ticket. It is the book, brought to life.
And then it all goes a bit, er, wonky. Naturally, Burton runs riot as soon as the gates open, but it's all too fast, all too rushed. It feels as if we've barely set foot in the factory before, with some regret, we're smashing through the glass ceiling and up into the sky. The result is something that entertains well enough; Johnny Depp's distinctly Jackson-inspired, slightly melancholic turn is terrific, even if the songs get bogged down in unnecessary pastiche. But the real disappointment, rather ironically, is that it loses the magic that it conjured up outside the factory walls.
In a sense, that's the moral of the story. But it's surely not quite as either Dahl or Burton intended.
15 December 2005
Film review: Crash
Not David Cronenberg's somewhat controversial and, if memory serves, epically tedious "Crash" - although it begins with a sly reference to it - but a new and entirely different one. Well, nearly different: this one has many similar flaws, even if the end result is rather easier on the eye.
Thing is, it's just so bloody laboured. Given that the movie's essential premise - that racial tension threatens to pull society apart - is itself a dramatic construct, the burden of proof becomes overwhelming. For an hour, every single character in every single scene is the scriptwriter's tool, and there's absolutely nothing that doesn't eventually resolve into some kind of racial motivation.
It gives you no room to breathe, to get to know what else the characters' lives might be about; it feels as if stereotypes are merely being shuffled around for the film's own ends, that they're being used as much as examined. If there is complexity, it's in the plot - an evident debt to "Magnolia" is made explicit by a musical finale, but is present throughout - and not in the writing itself, which never gets beneath anyone's skin. Literally.
That first hour is exhausting, but not for the reasons that it should be. The effort is later rewarded by a couple of superb, though convoluted, set pieces in which dramatic tension is pulled cheesewire-tight, rescuing the film as a spectacle if not as a piece of social commentary. Another of these is wrecked by over-obvious clues earlier on, but still, there's a sense of urgency and danger that makes your nerves prickle for the first time.
And then, inevitably, it's wasted by an ending so utterly trite that the film almost eats itself, reducing its own impact to a bland nothingness. It's not easy to make a good film about racial politics. It's not easy, and this ain't it.
Thing is, it's just so bloody laboured. Given that the movie's essential premise - that racial tension threatens to pull society apart - is itself a dramatic construct, the burden of proof becomes overwhelming. For an hour, every single character in every single scene is the scriptwriter's tool, and there's absolutely nothing that doesn't eventually resolve into some kind of racial motivation.
It gives you no room to breathe, to get to know what else the characters' lives might be about; it feels as if stereotypes are merely being shuffled around for the film's own ends, that they're being used as much as examined. If there is complexity, it's in the plot - an evident debt to "Magnolia" is made explicit by a musical finale, but is present throughout - and not in the writing itself, which never gets beneath anyone's skin. Literally.
That first hour is exhausting, but not for the reasons that it should be. The effort is later rewarded by a couple of superb, though convoluted, set pieces in which dramatic tension is pulled cheesewire-tight, rescuing the film as a spectacle if not as a piece of social commentary. Another of these is wrecked by over-obvious clues earlier on, but still, there's a sense of urgency and danger that makes your nerves prickle for the first time.
And then, inevitably, it's wasted by an ending so utterly trite that the film almost eats itself, reducing its own impact to a bland nothingness. It's not easy to make a good film about racial politics. It's not easy, and this ain't it.
06 December 2005
Book review: Bret Easton Ellis - The Rules Of Attraction
Someone from L.A. sent me a video tape, unmarked, and I am afraid to play it but probably will. I have lost my I.D. three times this term. I tell the person I see in psychological counselling that I feel the apocalypse is near. She asks me how my flute tutorial is progressing.
Oddly, given that it doesn't quite have the landmark status of his other work, The Rules of Attraction is perhaps Ellis' finest novel. More than that, perhaps an era-defining novel in a Kerouac kinda way, when the dust finally settles.
Maybe its modesty is the point: whereas he sometimes tries just a bit too hard, feeding hype rather than creating truly great fiction, this is a consolidation of previous efforts, and the result is simple and devastating. Here, Ellis' glassy prose has a distinctly romantic sheen: much as this is a novel dominated by the utter, nihilistic blankness of ultra-rich America, it's also a deeply affecting piece that summons up a vivid melancholy for its open conclusion.
A superficially simple work - Ellis' essential genius is to say nothing about people with nothing to say - that drags you into its hidden depths, deft and witty and mournful.
Oddly, given that it doesn't quite have the landmark status of his other work, The Rules of Attraction is perhaps Ellis' finest novel. More than that, perhaps an era-defining novel in a Kerouac kinda way, when the dust finally settles.
Maybe its modesty is the point: whereas he sometimes tries just a bit too hard, feeding hype rather than creating truly great fiction, this is a consolidation of previous efforts, and the result is simple and devastating. Here, Ellis' glassy prose has a distinctly romantic sheen: much as this is a novel dominated by the utter, nihilistic blankness of ultra-rich America, it's also a deeply affecting piece that summons up a vivid melancholy for its open conclusion.
A superficially simple work - Ellis' essential genius is to say nothing about people with nothing to say - that drags you into its hidden depths, deft and witty and mournful.
Film review: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
Seven, going on eight. Hard to decide; it's that kind of film, really.
"The Life Aquatic" defies classification. Completely. For anyone who says that Hollywood movies always follow a set of well-defined formulae, designed by its global marketing machine, there's this: a film about a middle-aged, once-famous oceanographer in pursuit of a "jaguar shark" along with a hotchpotch team of recruits, a reporter, a long-lost son, an unfaithful wife and two trained dolphins. Condense that lot into a trailer...
In a sense, it's actually quite old-fashioned: an adventure movie, without any rules. Or logic, often. In others, it's much more complex than that: while it is very silly in places, and that's part of its charm, its comedy has the lightness of touch that you'd expect from Wes Anderson without succumbing to cleverness, and there's always a touching understanding of the humans involved, no matter how bizarre the situation.
It doesn't always hang together. But it does make for a deeply watchable film, never less than entertaining, sporadically hilarious, and sometimes rather touching too. When he finally finds his jaguar shark, the whole thing seems to make a curious kind of sense, somehow.
"The Life Aquatic" defies classification. Completely. For anyone who says that Hollywood movies always follow a set of well-defined formulae, designed by its global marketing machine, there's this: a film about a middle-aged, once-famous oceanographer in pursuit of a "jaguar shark" along with a hotchpotch team of recruits, a reporter, a long-lost son, an unfaithful wife and two trained dolphins. Condense that lot into a trailer...
In a sense, it's actually quite old-fashioned: an adventure movie, without any rules. Or logic, often. In others, it's much more complex than that: while it is very silly in places, and that's part of its charm, its comedy has the lightness of touch that you'd expect from Wes Anderson without succumbing to cleverness, and there's always a touching understanding of the humans involved, no matter how bizarre the situation.
It doesn't always hang together. But it does make for a deeply watchable film, never less than entertaining, sporadically hilarious, and sometimes rather touching too. When he finally finds his jaguar shark, the whole thing seems to make a curious kind of sense, somehow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)