In 1966, a year when the British Invasion is exploding onto the foreground of the musical world, there is still not a single British radio station devoted to playing rock music. Not an official one, that is. Pirate radio ships, anchored in Britain's ports, broadcast the newest sounds all day and all night, and at their head is a boat called Radio Rock. Radio Rock becomes the new home of Carl, a young man kicked out of school and lacking in purpose. While a few devoted cabinet members pull all the strings to make pirate radio illegal, Carl becomes a part of the Radio Rock family, a crew of motley characters devoted to each other and of course, to the music.
As my roommate and I discussed beforehand, if I somehow didn't fall in love with the movie itself - a British rock'n'roll film about the 1960s directed by Love Actually's Richard Curtis - I could just close my eyes and enjoy the soundtrack. Which was true enough, but there was nothing to worry about. The music hits immediately and so does the joy. This movie is full of love, love for life and music and fighting the power and humanity. While there is no one defining, clear storyline, the events that transpire are nonetheless hilarious, emotional, and fun. Sheer fun, that's what Pirate Radio is: it's irreverent and a little bit lewd and completely over-the-top. But I think it represents the absolute truth of the way it feels to discover music for the first time and to fall in love.
I have no criticisms, no complaints. I realize this is quite unusual. I realize this review is rather unprofessional. This isn't the greatest film anyone has ever made, it's just really, really good and a really good time. The characters are instantly lovable, their struggles and their passions recognizable and real, their relationships perfectly crafted. There are moments where I was literally on the edge of my seat, and other moments where I was doubled over laughing. Pirate Radio is energetic, inspirational, exuberant. Go see it now.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
#14 - The Maltese Falcon
I always have trouble summarizing movies that rely entirely on suspense without spoiling anything. If I were to go beyond, say, the first ten minutes, I would reveal major plot points. So I'll say this: The Maltese Falcon is perhaps the first example of film noir. Its story begins when a client comes to see private eye Sam Spade about the man her sister has run off with. But Sam quickly finds himself tangled up in something much larger - the dark world of assassins and international crime.
I was expecting to have to suspend disbelief whenever The Maltese Falcon showed its age, but ended up doing nothing of the sort. After 69 years, this movie is still completely fresh (if you can brush aside the era's characteristic misogyny, though this one does make a few strides in a positive direction) and kept me on the edge of my seat all the way through. There is a perfect balance of information known to the viewer and cards in the hands of the characters. Bogart's Spade isn't necessarily a likable man, more of the antihero, but you don't even need to like him, because the intrigue is sufficiently intriguing that you'll hope he figures everything out just so we can get all the answers.
The cinematography is subtle and exquisite, and the acting is right on target. The characters are absolutely archetypes, but I found myself loving that they were archetypes, that the cast embodied these stock characters through and through and infused them with life and energy. The screenplay is well-paced, comical just when the audience needs relief, and intelligent enough at times that it left me with plenty to think about after it was over.
I was expecting to have to suspend disbelief whenever The Maltese Falcon showed its age, but ended up doing nothing of the sort. After 69 years, this movie is still completely fresh (if you can brush aside the era's characteristic misogyny, though this one does make a few strides in a positive direction) and kept me on the edge of my seat all the way through. There is a perfect balance of information known to the viewer and cards in the hands of the characters. Bogart's Spade isn't necessarily a likable man, more of the antihero, but you don't even need to like him, because the intrigue is sufficiently intriguing that you'll hope he figures everything out just so we can get all the answers.
The cinematography is subtle and exquisite, and the acting is right on target. The characters are absolutely archetypes, but I found myself loving that they were archetypes, that the cast embodied these stock characters through and through and infused them with life and energy. The screenplay is well-paced, comical just when the audience needs relief, and intelligent enough at times that it left me with plenty to think about after it was over.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
#13 - Crossing the Bridge
When Einstürzende Neubauten's Alex Hacke first traveled to Istanbul and heard its sound, he knew he couldn't stay away forever. Along with director Fatih Akın, Hacke makes his return, traveling around the city and its surrounding towns with recording equipment, delving deep into the rich world of Turkish music, young and old, rich and poor, rap and rock and folk dances. From a teenage gypsy band to an 82-year-old singer and everywhere in between, Hacke and Akın let us hear the voice of the city.
From the very beginning of Crossing the Bridge, we are thrust immediately into the teeming world of Istanbul. This film is in your face, it is loud and raucous and doesn't apologize. We travel with Hacke and Akın on a boat across the Bosporus, into a tiny recording studio in the basement of a tattoo parlor, and into Istanbul's slums and minority neighborhoods. The first thing we are faced with is sensory overload. Sound that reverberates in one's rib cage. A dizzying panoply of sights. Akın shows incredible skill both when focusing on tiny details - the lettering on a set list, the strings of a dulcimer - and sweeping cityscapes. But Crossing the Bridge is also, at times, tender. It's about the love the artists of Istanbul have for what they do, their song and dance and culture. Akın's take is that Turkish music is all about heritage, and we see this very clearly when footage of rock gods like Erkin Koray is interspersed with young musicians talking about how the music of their childhood inspired them.
I think what really sells Crossing the Bridge for me is that for Hacke, it's also a labor of love. Rather than be the observer, rather than be the explorer documenting an unfamiliar and exotic culture, Hacke immerses himself in the music. He plays his bass with the bands. He shares his love of the music with them, and they with him. And in doing that, Hacke lets us interact too, brings us in, makes us all insiders for a little while. As Sertab Erener sings in a Turkish-infused Madonna cover as the credits roll, "music makes the people come together" - the message of unity and shared culture isn't trite or cloying but makes sense, because on screen we are seeing everyone brought together by music. I walked out of the theater feeling electrified, and hoping someday I could visit (or come back to?) Istanbul myself and experience these sounds anew.
From the very beginning of Crossing the Bridge, we are thrust immediately into the teeming world of Istanbul. This film is in your face, it is loud and raucous and doesn't apologize. We travel with Hacke and Akın on a boat across the Bosporus, into a tiny recording studio in the basement of a tattoo parlor, and into Istanbul's slums and minority neighborhoods. The first thing we are faced with is sensory overload. Sound that reverberates in one's rib cage. A dizzying panoply of sights. Akın shows incredible skill both when focusing on tiny details - the lettering on a set list, the strings of a dulcimer - and sweeping cityscapes. But Crossing the Bridge is also, at times, tender. It's about the love the artists of Istanbul have for what they do, their song and dance and culture. Akın's take is that Turkish music is all about heritage, and we see this very clearly when footage of rock gods like Erkin Koray is interspersed with young musicians talking about how the music of their childhood inspired them.
I think what really sells Crossing the Bridge for me is that for Hacke, it's also a labor of love. Rather than be the observer, rather than be the explorer documenting an unfamiliar and exotic culture, Hacke immerses himself in the music. He plays his bass with the bands. He shares his love of the music with them, and they with him. And in doing that, Hacke lets us interact too, brings us in, makes us all insiders for a little while. As Sertab Erener sings in a Turkish-infused Madonna cover as the credits roll, "music makes the people come together" - the message of unity and shared culture isn't trite or cloying but makes sense, because on screen we are seeing everyone brought together by music. I walked out of the theater feeling electrified, and hoping someday I could visit (or come back to?) Istanbul myself and experience these sounds anew.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
#12 - The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
So Dr. Parnassus has a gambling problem. He just can't seem to stop making deals with the devil. First he won himself eternal life, then true love. Except in order to achieve the latter, he had to make a bargain: the devil would get the doctor's daughter on her sixteenth birthday. As the lovely young Valentina rapidly approaches that age, it seems like all hope is lost until a stranger stumbles upon Parnassus and his traveling show, a stranger with many secrets - and plans that may save Valentina after all.
Visually, this movie is a psychedelic trip. The gimmick is that Parnassus, once he goes into a trance, can send people into a world of their own imagination, and as you might surmise, no matter how dull a person may seem, his or her imagination is generally a rich and dazzling place. Also a very, very weird place. Amidst all this phantasmagoria, there are madcap adventures aplenty and possibly also some philosophical questions about the nature of destiny and choice and the power of stories. Possibly.
I say possibly because most of the time I was trying to figure out what was even going on. There are a lot of interesting threads here, but director Terry Gilliam seems to have opted for handing us the work of tying the ends together and choosing to focus - at the expense of, you know, plot and characterization - on imagery. The film's focus is confused, giving us no obvious lens or point of view through which to see the events. We're instead left watching a group of insiders, people who always know exactly or near exactly what is going on and are not telling us. They are dressed in beautiful glitzy clothing and they draw us briefly into their imaginary world with expert performances and promises of magic. And they take us somewhere, just not all the way there.
Visually, this movie is a psychedelic trip. The gimmick is that Parnassus, once he goes into a trance, can send people into a world of their own imagination, and as you might surmise, no matter how dull a person may seem, his or her imagination is generally a rich and dazzling place. Also a very, very weird place. Amidst all this phantasmagoria, there are madcap adventures aplenty and possibly also some philosophical questions about the nature of destiny and choice and the power of stories. Possibly.
I say possibly because most of the time I was trying to figure out what was even going on. There are a lot of interesting threads here, but director Terry Gilliam seems to have opted for handing us the work of tying the ends together and choosing to focus - at the expense of, you know, plot and characterization - on imagery. The film's focus is confused, giving us no obvious lens or point of view through which to see the events. We're instead left watching a group of insiders, people who always know exactly or near exactly what is going on and are not telling us. They are dressed in beautiful glitzy clothing and they draw us briefly into their imaginary world with expert performances and promises of magic. And they take us somewhere, just not all the way there.
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