Charming Interwar Entertainment

Charming Interwar Entertainment

by Kristin Battestella

Despite the turbulent times before and after, these films and television series set in the twenties and thirties are brimming with charming wit – mostly. 

 

The Grand Budapest Hotel – Snowy, bleak cemeteries contrast the orange mid century accents and picturesque postcard designs of this 2014 quirky comedy from director Wes Anderson (The Royal Tenenbaums). While the visuals are aesthetically pleasing; the books, voiceover jokes, timeline transitions, and Jude Law's (Captain Marvel) detailing of the kitschy, dilapidated hotel's off season are a lot to digest amid dialogue within the internal monologue, rapid newspaper headlines, zany zooms, action pans, elevator doors parting, camera ups and downs, and in and out of focus views. Fortunately, the busy exposition gives way to calm and curious introductions – our hotelier F. Murray Abraham (Amadeus) nestles in the baths of this enchanted old ruin as we follow the inter title style chapter cards back to a grandiose thirties heyday. Choice reds, lush purple, vintage cars, trains, delightful architecture, and golden chandeliers set the period lavish while tight camera angles convey the cramped servant areas and sweeping pans reflect the patron's splendor. Tom Wilkinson (Essex Boys), Jeff Goldbum (Independence Day), Saoirse Ronan (Byzantium), Edward Norton (Red Dragon), Lea Seydoux (Spectre), Adrien Brody (The Jacket), Willem Dafoe (Shadow of the Vampire), Harvey Keitel (National Treasure), Owen Wilson (Midnight in Paris), Bill Murray (Little Shop of Horrors), a dynamite in the sack old lady Tilda Swinton (Only Lovers Left Alive), and more star power cameos, however, make for a vignette feeling as viewers wonder which part of the story is the story and not just another scene change. Thankfully, such hotel hustle and bustle fits the nostalgic whirlwind, and swift “Are you fucking nuts?” asides pepper the rose colored glasses framework as our lobby boy learns the ropes from Ralph Fiennes' (The English Patient) sermon giving, tight ship running, serving all the rich blondes concierge. Modern sarcasm lifts the who's swindling whom heists, and the best zingers come in the one on one, smooth talker tongue in cheek. We're invested in the interplay farce but take nothing at face value, reading between the lines of the embellished court case, recountings to the camera, and butler did it gags. Conspiracies and suspects mount, however the loyalty and button up routine of the jailhouse isn't that different from the formality of the grand hotel. In fact, impoverished origins and unusual circumstances unite these quirky gents when the players themselves admit the thickening plot confuses them. Shocking heads in a basket and a larger than life scale keep the murder and suspense stylish while cable car graphics and cats tossed out the window picked up at the coat check add to the bemusing hotel prayer chain. Genuine characters and core friendships sustain the increasingly preposterous on the run adventure – speed walking chases, monastery disguises, second copies of the second will, shootouts, and macguffins create a knowing cumulative amid outlandish travels, whimsical ski jumps, and silly poetics straying into the fantastic. At times, this is quite pretentious and overly clever, doing too much when the casting winks and lavish production handle the complexity without any extra need to be high brow for the sake of it. Some outwitting and double crossings are confusing, and the redundant, intentionally unreliable narration builds toward a bitter, black and white montage that feels abrupt and unfair compared to the preceding yarn. Fortunately, a fuzzy frame within a frame game of telephone wraps the past grandeur almost in fiction – a long gone embellished splendor made up by an old hotel proprietor and compounded by a wayward writer. Although one needs to appreciate old movies and what this film is trying to do to enjoy its wit, this is an entertaining, intelligent piece with a careful, award winning attention to detail that takes more than one viewing.

Mapp and Lucia – Prunella Scales (Fawlty Towers), Geraldine McEwan (Marple), and Nigel Hawthorne (Richard III) lead this charming 1985 coastal comedy based on the books by E.F. Benson accented by English gardens, pleasant melodies, and jolly good formalities flummoxed by over the hedge gossip. Foreign metaphors, “Au Reservoir,” and fake Italian make one sound fancy while seething sighs, squinting “dear” objections, and frienemy let's do lunch fakery punctuate arguments over everything from who gets to play Elizabeth I in the local play to who's servants are courting who else's servants. Nobody says what they mean thanks to the stiff upper lip tone and attempted continental refinement, yet the over the top gentility provides backhanded zingers to match all the haughty decorum, period stylings, and fur coats worn in the summer. A quaint local artist paints scandalous nude portraits and content domestic evenings full of piano duets replace sexual acts. Oh, such harmony when they finish together! Some taboos can be chuckled over at tea time yet others ruffle the snobbish feathers one and all as vain high society facades parallel the subtle gender bending innuendo. Everyone lives to push someone else's buttons – back then one had to make her own entertainment with country drives in classic cars, telegrams to famous friends, or rival parties and art exhibitions scheduled at the same time. Despite unannounced pop ins, overcharging for a broken piano, faking influenza to get out of a concert, and real estate low balling; the love to hate, doing dirty ladies remain bemusing and likable characters without any venomous soap opera nasty to the secret lobster recipes, exposés, and just deserts. Who's eating the produce from who's garden tiffs rage over bridge in “they know that we know that they know that we know” suspicions that can't be proven until one climbs the church tower to spy. Townsfolk take sides over pearl clutching shocks and sordid tales of the sea as the stock market bound women whip the embroidering men into shape by coloring the gray in a beard and serving giant cups of sobering tea. Intercut policy debates in the street and servants gossiping at the beach lead to gas line mishaps and delusions of Roman ruins bested by veiled pregnancy scandals. The vitriol remains scrumptious in spite of the selfish church organ dedications, ulterior hospital ward donations, and manipulated local politicians as our rich snobs insist on making this pastoral little seaside town's society page all about them. The eponymous ladies welcome every opportunity to help the needy in the most self serving ways possible, and their attempts to look good always leave egg on the other's face. Marriages of convenience understood to have separate bedrooms and no caresses feign to be simple unions when the couple really seeks the spectacle of the year on top of carefully orchestrated mayoress achievements and making the bicycle all the rage. The poor chauffeurs would be out of work if they weren't needed to run behind the peddling ladies, a dead pet bird sat on is reused as the feather in one's cap – literally – and a true opera diva and a real drunken duchess deliciously put our tiny village big fishes in their place. Although these ten episodes are a little long at fifty minutes, the ongoing comeuppance arcs are staggered over the time and thus easy to marathon– half of one tale leads into the next episode rather than the expected, typical one plot sitcom. Those of a certain age can certainly enjoy the dulcet period piece snobbery and the snappy, pip pip cheerio camp rhythms here.

For the Kids Perhaps

Tutankhamun – Lord Carnarvon Sam Neill (The Tudors) hires Max Irons' (yes, Jeremy's son) Egyptologist Howard Carter to dig for undiscovered tombs in this 2016 miniseries from ITV opening with turn of the century desert rocks and orange haze in the Valley of the Kings. When one has enough money, you can buy the past regardless of proper papers and techniques, and the sophisticated parasols, entitled rich, upscale parties, and vintage cars contrast the tents, lanterns, dust, and pottery. Despite the atmospheric spectacles, books, maps, sketches, and parchments; the story restarts several times with introductions, historical figures, and obvious scene setting CGI. Fortunately, there's an enthusiasm over the possibility of unplundered tombs – innocent questions on seemingly deliberately desecrated relics and Amarna and Luxor references to the heretic Akhenaten and his obscure pharaoh son Tutankhamun. Archaeologists put the puzzle together without over-explaining or trite monologues, but the deductions and withered ruins must wait as The Great War interferes – leading to local resentment, plundered digs, and years of no luck in the Valley. Withdrawn funding and arguments about searching on a whim, however, finally lead to uncovered steps, tunnels, sealed walls, and hieroglyphics. By 1922 the golden splendor, jewels, and “wonderful things” in the antechamber begat flashbulbs, new tools, and dark rooms in nearby tombs as stunning artifacts are photographed and cataloged. Crowds full of a new post-war hope arrive amid gunfire, mobs, and exclusive newspaper backlashes with stories of theft and ancient curses. Our archaeologists fight humidity and fresh air with wax preservation but technicalities arise between these British finders and the Egyptian Antiquities Service. Local authorities wanting to keep their royal artifacts at home are unfortunately made the villain against the young and lovelorn Carter – who was really a crusty middle aged man more concerned with what his find meant to the world. Further unnecessary liberties are taken with love triangles and grossly inaccurate fluff padding the series alongside juvenile acting and supporting ethnic characters' deaths used for white man angst. Contrived rifts and blood poisoning drama become uneven in the final hour compared to the wondrous opening of the titular burial chamber. It's the moment we've all been waiting for but early film reels and one telling another about the nested sarcophagi cheat on the historical achievements. Thanks to all the superfluous flirtations and overly romanticized aspects, important deaths and the famous golden mask reveal are glossed over in favor of sappy breakups, laughable portrayals, and annoying man tears. What should have been a two hour event film becomes an overlong yarn frustrating to any academic Egyptology obsessed audience. However, the inaccuracies here also lead one to read up on all the facts, and this may have some merit for youthful viewers new to archaeology looking for a fun adventure.

I Wanted to Like It but...

Death Defying Acts – Bubbles, boats, chains, and crowds at the docks counting down to the spectacle open this 2007 Houdini drama directed by Gillian Armstrong (Little Women) and starring Guy Pearce (Brimstone), Catherine Zeta-Jones (Chicago), Timothy Spall (Harry Potter), and Saoirse Ronan (Byzantium). Unfortunately, the CGI and special effects are terribly cheap and noticeable, as are the poor accents. An unnecessary, flowery narration telling viewers nothing intrudes on visuals that need no explanation with spoon fed confusion, and the entire disjointed opening with our sassy gals picking pockets and living by their wits could have been left on the cutting room floor. Colorful on stage cons and exotic mediums better set the scene alongside period fashions, vintage streets, suave cars, and theatre marquees – mother and daughter seeing the Houdini mania newsreel at the cinema is all the connection needed. Instead, we have a little girl telling us about Houdini's inner dark side when viewers could be watching on mute and see his pesky manager or our psychic lady studying the newspapers for clues on the illusionist. The adults debate the fakery, hocus pocus, and mumbo jumbo, questioning whether showbiz needs proof or science, and the mature conversations prove this juvenile anchor is an absolutely unnecessary character altogether. Let us see the hotel maid stunts, handcuff tricks, and upside down tanks for ourselves as the onscreen audience holds its collective breath. Visions of dead mothers, $10,000 offers for psychics who can contact the great beyond, and pushing the titular limits are story enough alongside a bemusing montage of those tap dancing for that reward – literally. Edwardian sophistication sets off the experiments on the existence of the afterlife, pop powder cameras, and letters locked in a safe so a psychic can reveal the contents. Champagne dinners, playing hard to get, steamy dream sequences, and romantic evening races lead to ruined abbeys, gargoyles, and roof top stunts. However, the time wasting, childish storyline continues to sag, sputtering the already obvious and hamfisted by keeping the smoke and mirrors at arms length with superficial trite and no emotional depth. Third wheel intrusions replace the audience's fly on the wall view and we never get to be in on the daredevil charm. Though watchable for fans of the cast, the stars here deserved a better script, less liberties taken, and the gosh darn proper point of view. This picture is told from the entirely wrong perspective!

Only Lovers Left Alive

Only Lovers Left Alive is a Must See Vampire Spin

By Kristin Battestella

Though hampered in finding audiences by a limited box office season, writer, director, and independent film stalwart Jim Jarmusch's (Broken Flowers, Night on Earth, Mystery Train) 2013 vampire tale Only Lovers Left Alive remains a witty, impressive, thought provoking commentary long after the viewing ends.

Vampire and depressed musician Adam (Tom Hiddleston) has had it with humanity and our so-called zombie apathy and finds it increasingly difficult to make music in the once glorious but now downtrodden Detroit. His perpetual lady love Eve (Tilda Swinton), however, adores Tangier and enjoys her blood procuring visits with the long thought dead Christopher Marlowe (John Hurt) – the true author of Shakespeare's works. Eve makes the long trip to see Adam, but their rekindled romance is threatened when Eve's disruptive sister Ava (Mia Wasikowska) arrives from “zombie central” Los Angeles. The young and reckless Ava takes a liking to Adam's lone human friend Ian (Anton Yelchin) and soon endangers their O Negative supply line from local Dr. Watson (Jeffrey Wright). Will the lovers survive?

Not Your Mama's Vamps

Last fall, I wrote a mini capsule review of Only Lovers Left Alive for one of my annual vampire film lists. At the time, my primary concern was that this was a refreshingly unconventional film and that it would not be for everyone expecting more mainstream designs. Next, I feared the picture wasn't as good as I thought it was when I first saw it – would such offbeat hold up upon repeat viewings? However, I've found myself near addicted to Only Lovers Left Alive in the months since. Instead of predicating my praise with a 'not for everyone' label, my vantage has grown to the notion that everyone should give this picture a chance. Forget Twilight. I am so sick of any vampire film, book, and television material being compared to it when, despite its millions,Twilight is only one very small, divisive, largely inaccurate reflection of the genre and its longtime audiences. Only Lovers Left Alive, by contrast, is the 21^st century bar by which vampire pictures should be measured. This is everything I have ever wanted in a vampire movie yet it is unlike any other vampy film before it. The intercut beginning – who is who, what’s happening, why they live apart – will confuse some audiences accustomed to straightforward, spoon-fed explanations. Fortunately, these parallels reflect the similar but different existence of our detached but no less connected lovers and infers their own Einstein discussions. Ironically, the leads don't talk to each other until half hour into the picture when their vampiric nature is revealed with a ritualistic, sex scene-esque, ecstatic, blood drinking high. Some accept or revel in this shoot up tea time necessity while others begrudge and seem ashamed of it. The euphoria is over so fast – they can schedule it or travel a few nights without blood, but this required fix takes on dangerous withdrawals when one is on the run and down to a precious last drop.

Though perhaps obvious, the addiction subtext in Only Lovers Left Alive is one of many genre layers amid the witty, sardonic script and quotable ensemble banter. Certainly there are spooky, atmospheric, noir moments, yet the subtle, chuckle inducing black comedy accents toy with the social statements, bleak palette, and melancholy analysis in the truest sense of the phrase. Yes, what date of birth do you give when scheduling that night flight? Numerous names, languages, references, history, and literary allusions will take more than one viewing to register, and you can learn something new every time you watch Only Lovers Left Alive. Granted, that may not be the intention of the contemporary, multitasking, desensitized viewer, but this impressive depth and mental stimulation deserves your undivided attention. These vampires were probably there to give plants and animals their Latin names and scoff at how the antiquated grid technology hasn't caught up to the new millennium. What else did they have to do for so many centuries but read up on Tesla or quantum theory? They influence art, advance science, and accumulate knowledge while humanity ignores our spark and degrades into the mundane – understandably, it must suck to pin all that worth on the mad dash to find uncontaminated blood! Despite their seeming superiority, our couple will always be in hiding, on the lamb, under the radar, and avoiding the police. Sooner or later their predatory nature must surface and they will find a way to survive.

The Lovers

At first, the always ethereal Tilda Swinton (Michael Clayton) seems more like a Tolkien elf than a vampire thanks to her striking white hair, light clothing, and Old World happiness as she takes a solo evening stroll through Tangier. Clearly strong, Eve seems effortless, curious, intuitive, and almost childlike ala the hissing swan inspiration from The Bride of Frankenstein yet also aged and advanced in her sense of wonder. How many of the great literary scandals has she witnessed first hand! She touches books delicately, imprinting their tales with a tactile osmosis and vampiric speed reading before wearing gloves to protect this intimate touch during her journey. Eve is a progressive vampire with plenty of credit cards, passports, and a smartphone, yet waits in her lover's foyer as if the removal of said gloves is an old fashioned, sensuous calling card. Traveling is such a drag, but they talk long distance on schedule and Eve's handled Adam's periodic brooding previously. She comes to him without outrightly being asked, dances to the music he makes, and remains in tune yin to yang despite their separation. This couple would seem mismatched – her bright contentment to his bleak depressing – yet these primal, protective mates for life are wonderfully kinetic be it a continent or inches between them. Dark garments and red accents do intrude on Eve's white as Only Lovers Left Alive gets heavy, however. She wears his robe, feels at ease within his dreary sheets, but as the desperation mounts the sophisticated layers peel away, reverting to an older, fierce instinct. Eve says she is a survivor, and we believe it when she drinks the O Negative first, keeps the flask in her pocket, puts the blood on a stick in the fridge, or wins at chess. She says, “Give me all your money baby,” and Adam gives it!

I confess, I’m behind on the Tom Hiddleston hysteria but became a fan because of Only Lovers Left Alive. Initially, I could see the originally cast as Adam Michael Fassbender in the early lone rocker scenes, but if Fassbender did The Counselor instead of Only Lovers Left Alive, he made a rare mistake. Now, I don’t think anyone but Hiddleston could have played Adam, and it's a pity so many may only know him as Loki in Thor and The Avengers. From naming his male guitar after “just some old 17^th century English guy” and seeing long dead star Eddie Cochran “yeah, on Youtube” to his modified electric car, antique stethoscope, a perpetually out of order bathroom, and the need for an elusive wooden bullet – there's more to Adam than meets the eye. His clutter and technological work indicate they have been apart for some time, and Adam seems to be an ongoing, moody, musical study in contradictions with an old boob tube and giant cordless antenna phone hooked up to his laptop and sophisticated music equipment. His music is brooding art with a beat, a melancholy but still ticking reflection laced with Byronic references. He dresses up as “Dr. Faust” to obtain his blood supply and balances his pouty with a surprisingly sardonic wit and chuckle-inducing deadpan irony. Adam claims mutual jeopardy makes him feel safer, that he doesn't have spare time to waste, and above all insists he doesn't have heroes – despite an entire wall adorned with such luminaries (I see that Hank Williams on the right coughISawtheLightcough). Sadly, he is right about our zombie monotony and people fearing our genius bringing us to ruin. These vampires have nothing to do with their lives but read, invent, and watch us piss away the gifts we are given. I’d be depressed, too! Adam was emo before emo was emo. If Eve thinks he is wasting his long life on self obsession, by comparison imagine how much time we are wasting in our compressed lifespan.

Friends and Foes

Adding to Only Lovers Left Alive's nostalgic charm is John Hurt (Alien) as Christopher Marlowe – yes, that Christopher Marlowe. His Shakespeare possibilities create just enough past interest while his unknown aspects provide words of warning to Adam and Eve. Some audiences, however, may be upset by his unexplained health issues or find the Marlowe as Shakespeare suggestion unnecessary. Was Kit already too old when he became a vampire, presumably after he faked his historical death pre-Shakespeare? Has he already lived so long that his immortality is now a slowly degenerative condition? Who or what is Silmane Dazi's (This Path Ahead) Bilal to Marlowe? He knows both Eve and Adam and their secrets, but by all indications Adam has not been in Tangier for some time and Bilal doesn't appear to be a vampire himself. Is he merely a literary protege to Marlowe or something more, and how often do these kinds of short lived companions come and go? Of course, we'll never know Kit's whole story, and that's the point. Thankfully, his symbolic bad batch for the drug dealer twists create more angst in Only Lovers Left Alive, as does the perfectly juvenile and obnoxious Mia Wasikowska (Jane Eyre) as Ava. Just when the picture may seem too slow, Eve's so-called sister enters half way through the two hour time – clearly uninvited as a reckless vampire who lives in the moment regardless of any delicate needs or peril. Adam says he never sees other vampires, yet they each dream of Ava before she arrives and resent her bratty jokes and childish vamp cliches. They can't forget whatever it was she did in Paris 87 years ago, (Oh if this were Highlander: The Series and we could have seen that!) and Ava comes between these would be parents, overstaying her welcome and causing precious blood to be spilled – literally and figuratively.

Though Anton Yelchin (Star Trek) as Ian isn't a bad kid for being in the music industry and seems grateful to genuinely help Adam, Ava uses Ian and makes an already fragile situation regarding Adam's music more suspicious. Why are teens showing up at Adam's house? He has released music anonymously, but how have Adam's tunes made it to the underground club scene and come back to him? Did Ian sell the material, defying his confidentiality agreement, or was it Ava somehow causing the musical stir? Ian wants to know more about Adam, tries to get him out of his reclusive ways, and unknowing emulates their vampire style – but he will never fully grasp the centuries in play and is easily lead and influenced by the next shiny lure. Again, perhaps the point is in not knowing how it all goes down, for Adam and Eve have previously given their achievements to others, left a place before they've stay too long, or fled from something worse. Despite her lack of discipline, Ava is right that a lone vampire has a much tougher existence. Are Adam and Eve really condescending snobs, vampires so far removed from what they are that they don't know how to get rid of a body? They think they are so above that 15^th century barbarism and must obey that stop sign when a cop is driving by, but their gloves must come off eventually if they intend to live up to being the Only Lovers Left Alive. Fortunately, Jeffrey Wright (Casino Royale) adds a fun sense of spooky as the blood procuring Dr. Watson. His hospital lab is bright and high tech compared to the Detroit drab, and his Strangelove or Caligari banter suggests he may suspect what's really going on in this lucrative arrangement. Honestly, I wish Only Lovers Left Alive were a series so we could see more of this reluctant, looking over his shoulder but no less sardonic doctor and his speculations, “Cat's gotta be from Cleveland.”

Sophisticated Designs

Compared to a more expected in your face horror or heavy action spectacle, not much happens in Only Lovers Left Alive. However, there are numerous visual treats and symmetrical designs layering all that isn't said. The moody nighttime sky, slowly descending camera angles, and spinning records create a hypnotic start, and the dizzying round and round parallels the intoxicating romance and blood highs. The photography and camera framing feels intimate and humorous, contrasting the decaying humanity and quiet players. Secretive, melancholy blue tones and soft, exotic yellow hues distinguish locales or feelings while suggestive hints of red pop onscreen and fade to black slides imply something bad happening. Bright, white hospitals or airplanes mean the sunglasses wearing vamps are out of their comfort zone and in our tempting world. Though the coloring may seem too saturated or overly processed and the brief CGI super speed actions are too noticeable, the scheme feels deliberately dream like or off kilter in the distorted motions – they move too fast for us but time goes so slow for them. Piles of décor create a cool, aged feeling and psychedelic atmosphere along with great character unto themselves Detroit and Tangier locations, sweet records, excellent tunes, turntables, and carefree dancing. Thanks to some inventive yak hair wigs, these vampires aren’t pretty per se, but they look unusually beautiful and as ancient and worn as their collections of books, instruments, and accumulating pack rat lifestyles. Guitar enthusiasts will delight in the mix of classic and modern technology, as will Tesla fans and alternative energy theorists. Vampire inventors, who knew?

The unique vampire mythos in Only Lovers Left Alive will also alternatively delight and aggravate fans of the genre, as again, most of their vampire technicalities go unclarified and leave room for debate. How could they get their photo taken if they have no reflection? Eve says they looked so young in an 1868 third wedding picture, so do they age or don't they? Are their experiences and long lived souls reflected in their eyes, noticeable only to them? Are Eve's predictions on our fighting over water and the rise of new regions actually prophetic or is it merely thousands of years of seeing it all before? Why does Adam keep books in the refrigerator – space issues or are those rare volumes in need of climate control? Just imagine if more people kept books in the refrigerator instead of junk food. Sustenance for the mind, right? The mushrooms, what the heck is it about the mushrooms? I hate mushrooms! The blu-ray edition of Only Lovers Left Alive adds more deleted scenes and comedic moments with sunlight and mirrors, and these extra minutes could have remained in the film. Only Lovers Left Alive already makes its own rules and pace, and a hour length behind the scenes feature goes into more detail on the film's long gestation and attention to its narrative. Renovation admirers can also see before and after photos of Adam's Detroit abode online, now sold and restored to its former glory. Somehow, that just seems fitting.

An Audience Awaits

Somewhere I read a one sentence review that said the worst part of Only Lovers Left Alive is that it ended. Though appropriately Sopranos style, that finale may also upset some audiences. I myself had to rewind it two or three times upon my first viewing – just like my favorite part, the dance scene. Vampires are people, too, and Eve has come to make Adam live again. Are there plot holes and pretentious writing in the unexplained aspects at work here? Perhaps, but there is nothing so glaring to deter viewers – and plenty more enticing and intelligently structured designs make it easy to roll with Only Lovers Left Alive. I want to discuss this tale further, for I know I am forgetting to mention even more little treats – the music alone, hello! Instead of a mind numbing movie, Only Lovers Left Alive feels like a book continually giving a new puzzle piece with every viewing. Yes, the silent montages, heady atmosphere, and seemingly aimless, desolate Detroit style won’t be for everyone. It is correct to say nothing really occurs in Only Lovers Left Alive, and that will mean a big no thank you for much of today's audiences. I didn't get to see Only Lovers Left Alive in theaters thanks to its extremely limited run and distant festival appearances, and it saddens me that something like the Marvel pictures make billions while films like this go unseen with a blink and you miss it million dollar box office. Can't everyone have a piece of the cinema pie?

When I finally picked up the blu-ray edition of Only Lovers Left Alive and convinced my husband to sit down and watch, we ended up discussing it for weeks. In fact, we're still talking about the unanswered questions and intriguing possibilities of Only Lovers Left Alive long after it has ended. I was excited to see Poe, Twain, Keats, and Dickinson on Adam’s wall, and I want to know who all his other heroes are, too. I originally started writing vampire stories because I had to write what I wanted to read. Outside of the biggies like Anne Rice or Bram Stoker, there was little serious vampire fiction around forty years ago. Had Only Lovers Left Alive been there in my youth, perhaps I wouldn't have had to make up my own vampire tales. Maybe that isn't saying very much, but as a long time fan of the fanged genre, it is perhaps the highest compliment I can give. Only Lovers Left Alive stays with you that deeply. Fans of the cast, vamp pictures, indie films, and well honed cinema should educate themselves with Only Lovers Left Alive ASAP.

Just Vamps Quatro!

Just Vamps, Quatro!

By Kristin Battestella

Another night, another quartet featuring a variety of bloodsucking delights past and present!

Count Dracula – This 1977 BBC adaptation starring Louis Jourdan (Gigi) as the oft-adapted eponymous vamp bills itself as “A gothic romance based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” There are noticeable changes, namely of Lucy and Mina as sisters and the combination character of Quincy P. Holmwood, however this longer two and a half hour episodic format begins with a bright and sunny Harker departure before spending more time with his Transylvania imprisonment than other film versions. The fashions feel a bit later, more Edwardian than the 1897 setting suggests but more dialogue from the book adds to the dark castle, spooky stonework, and moody tone along with creepy carriages, candles, Dictaphones, and fog. Frank Finlay (The Pianist) has the traditional sound and perfect style befitting as Van Helsing, but Jordan’s posh accent and echoing hypnotic sounds take some adjustment. While his freaky nails, hairy palms, and hint of fangs suggest something more sinister, his good looks, suave delivery, and fully clothed vampire brides feel too tame compared to then scarier vampires or, dare I say it, passé to fans of the millennial glitter vamp trends. Fortunately, the play like presentation and television filming of the time allow the story to take center stage. Though jarring at first, the reverse coloring, red distortions, and negative effects used are both crappy and psychedelic try hard cheap and strangely effective. The music is very minimal and the Demeter scenes are neutered to a mere mention over tea, but we do see Dracula walking down his castle wall. Creepy coffins, cemetery locales, bloody trickles around the mouth, and quality if hokey stakings with plenty of splatter keep up the atmosphere against the small scale design. Horse chases and action confrontations also escalate for final half hour, negating any of today’s slow or lacking saucy perceptions. This is a bit too long for the classroom in its entirety, however the mild tone and overall book faithfulness is perfect for showing and discussing selections of scenes not often found in the standard Dracula tellings, and Stoker enthusiasts will find this quite fun to see.  

Only Lovers Left Alive – I confess, I’d never actually seen a Tom Hiddleston (The Avengers) movie before this unconventional 2013 vampire tale from writer and director Jim Jarmusch (Night on Earth) co-starring the always ethereal Tilda Swinton (Michael Clayton). The intercut beginning – who is who, what’s happening, why they live apart – will confuse some, but secretive, spooky blue tones and soft, exotic yellow hues distinguish locales and feelings. These colors may seem too saturated or overly processed and deliberately dream like or off kilter and the brief CGI equals super speed actions are too noticeable. However, slowly spinning and descending camera angles and layers of décor create a cool, aged feeling and psychedelic mood along with great locations and sweet records. They aren’t pretty per se but these vamps looks like the old collectors we expect them to be, both of this time with modern technology yet accumulating piles of books and clutter. Their vampire nature is never out rightly stated and isn’t revealed until a half hour into the film with a ritualistic, sex scene-esque, ecstatic blood drinking high. There are dark, spooky moments, but the allure here is in the witty, mature script and sardonic but reflective banter between the ensemble. Hiddleston’s Adam is a moody musical fellow who dresses up as “Dr. Faust” to obtain his blood supply, and fun Byronic and historical references balance his pouty along with Swinton’s Eve and her contrasting white hair and Old World happiness. The couple would seem mismatched but her light content and his dark depressing are wonderfully kinetic and sensuous. John Hurt (Alien) is equally charming as Christopher Marlowe and Jeffrey Wright (Casino Royale) amuses as the blood procuring Dr. Watson. Though the silent montages and heady atmosphere fits the tone, this seemingly aimless, desolate Detroit style won’t be for everyone and nothing much happens until the perfectly juvenile and obnoxious Mia Wasikowska (Jane Eyre) enter half way through the 2 hour time. Fortunately, the parallels and social commentary of quality genre fiction are here –these vampires influence art and science and accumulate knowledge while humanity ignores our spark and degrades into the mundane. They must learn how to live and love, too, and you know, handle the 21^st century pressures in finding uncontaminated blood!

The Vampire – There’s pointless repeating for an old lady hard of hearing and a typical fifties kid on a bicycle to start this 1957 vampire and science blend, but otherwise the mysterious doctors, animal experiments, spooky house, thunder, and eerie music move swiftly for these 75 minutes. Interesting widower and father/daughter dynamics are introduced quickly and remain believable even while most of the fantastical science and old time doctoring will be shoddy today. Yes, mistaken pills and vampire bats plotting are obvious nowadays and fast talking cops or boring secondary characters are typical – never mind the whole lot of hooey and faux medical babble. However, the fifties over the top and expected horror hysterics are minimal, and a few red herrings add enough intrigue along with this likeable family threatened by naughty control serums and science gone awry. Although the simmering looses some luster once we see the goofy titular make up designs, the black and white shadows, darkness, and mostly off screen violence work wonderfully. There’s a pretty nurse and a whiff of a love triangle, but the romantic subplot is subdued enough and laced within mini suspense moments and crime vignettes. The guilt over these murders, vampire bites, and a deadly blood virus feel quite Jekyll and Hyde in spite of the preposterous science babble. The escalation progresses well, and dare I say it, the addiction parallels, viral paranoia, and suicide talk while not too deep to ruin the mid century fun do seem somewhat modern or ahead of their time. Some surprising turns and an enjoyable action finish round this one out nicely. 

 

One for the Kids!

The Return of Dracula – A hokey narration catches us up on this 1958 black and white vampire yarn, but it’s a bit odd to hear Transylvania talk alongside sweet classic cars, Leave it to Beaver nostalgia, and you know, Dracula in sunny California. At only 77 minutes, too much time is taken just getting started, and dangerous stakings and fine cemeteries are dismissed for a cliché older mom, teen daughter, and an annoying golly gee kid – heck their last name is Mayberry, coughandygriffithcough. Instead of unnecessary fifties niceties or aimless transitions, the script should be tighter; this mix of young romance, coppers on the case, and would be horror tries to do a bit of everything. The quality eerie parts seem like they are from a different movie thanks to smoke, howling dogs, wolf attacks, scared patients, coffins, and ominous music, and the few and far between supernatural leaves Francis Lederer (The Man I Married) with the bare minimum Dracula to do despite his proper look and pedigree. Fortunately, there are some interesting plot twists – from a sinister mistaken identity and dead cats to an unusual for the time widow and the suspicious male relative upstairs. Old fashioned over the top screamers and story possibilities are here, yet an uneven short sightedness, and trapped, B drive-in style will hamper the viewing for some. While it’s cool to see the mid century fashions, sewing, and décor, such wistful is unatmospheric compared to the spectacle of Hammer’s Horror of Dracula. One smart use of color, however, adds to the period entertainment here. Yes, there’s hardly any vampness per se, but the harmless taking itself seriously tone and obligatory Halloween Costume party finish make this one perfect for today’s spooky juveniles.

War Requiem

War Requiem Out There, But Good

By Kristin Battestella

At first, I wasn’t interested in seeing Derek Jarman’s War Requiem when it was released on DVD in late 2008. After watching the trailer online, I had a change of heart. Set to Benjamin Britten’s opus mass (itself inspired by the World War I poems of Wilfred Owen), the mostly dialogue-less War Requiem is uneven and bizarre; but no less beautiful and chock full of anti war sentiments.

Now, how can I summarize a film that begins with a speech from Laurence Oliver in his final performance and ends up with Tilda Swinton’s Nurse surviving the dust? War Requiem loosely follows a dramatized Wilfred Owen (Nathanial Parker) as he crosses paths with Swinton, a meaning well but misunderstood German Soldier (Sean Bean), and a creepy zealot named Abraham (Nigel Terry). War Requiem isn’t so much linear as a visual representation of Britten’s unaltered 1963 composition. As I said, I wouldn’t go for this type of film myself, but the charm of in your face music and pictures can’t be defined.

 

Reuniting most of his cast from 1986’s Caravaggio, Derek Jarman again uses Tilda Swinton’s (Michael Clayton, The Chronicles of Narnia) unique and striking look to his advantage. Asking your cast not to speak is a not easy, but Swinton’s mannerisms and talent relate the anguish of war and the haunting music perfectly. Her orange hair feels like the one bright spot amid all this violence and death, and Swinton rises and falls with the anguish of wartime hospital life.

We’re treated to Sir Laurence (Rebecca, Wuthering Heights) only briefly. He sets the pace of War Requiem with the opening poem ‘Strange Meeting’- the only words we hear before the music. His wheelchair bound Old Soldier reminds us of the frailty of humans, and how close we are to death before, after, and during battle. Likewise, the young, idealist Nathanial Parker (Inspector Lynley Mysteries) quickly becomes disillusioned with fighting, war, COs, and the enemy- as is his German compatriot Sean Bean (Goldeneye, Sharpe). The small, but talented cast shows their worth without words, but Bean’s character is particularly wasted- as most young soldiers are. His senseless death and bizarre afterlife scenes are somehow bittersweet and eerie. His brief, touching, and tragic scenes with Parker encompass War Requiem’s statement perfectly.

 

Along with the fine but silent cast, the segments of real war footage spliced into the narrative make War Requiem. Color, black and white, World War I through Vietnam-the big bombs, death, and trench warfare are perfectly in time and theme with Britten’s chorales, drums, and crescendos. In some ways, War Requiem might have been better were it just this crafty marriage between real imagery and music. Then again, a fully dramatic Great War piece with this cast would have been all right, too. Within such a short ninety-minute run time, however, the mix of both narrative and war collages strikes the audience in all ways. We react to the quiet, human moments of the cast-for nothing tugs a person’s heartstrings more than the sight of another human experiencing joy or pain. Although, if that fails in this desensitized day and age; Jarman’s bombardment of the horrors of war hits the audience with cold reality: despite time, technology, and loss of life, the battlefield does not change.

 

As beautiful as War Requiem is, it is also very ugly in many respects. Sure, we have the gritty, dirty, bloody war aspects from the archive footage and in the drama-but this is also a little film made very much on the cheap. Some of it is deliberately cold, dark, stark, and bare, but it’s a bit obvious that this is as much out of necessity as it is for artistic statement. The costumes and military gear look authentic enough, but the cast is made to look dirty, too. Sometimes I just want to rush up and scrub the television screen. Being made dirty and cheap in 1990 might also make War Requiem a tough viewing for folks used to technical masterpieces ala Saving Private Ryan.

Lovely as this mix of music and film is, War Requiem doesn’t get its score quite right. Softer, quiet moments in the music make for a lot of dead time onscreen. Do we need to see Tilda Swinton braiding her hair for a full five minutes? Some spots look like Jarman is trying too hard to make statements or be weird rather than using what the score is telling him. At other moments, the slow actions of the cast don’t match the booming music. Naturally, this is not the easiest musical composition to mirror, so whatever flaws War Requiem has are artistically forgivable. Maybe you don’t like the look, but the music is undeniable. If Fantasia is the perfect blend of visuals and music, then War Requiem is the underground stepchild. As unique and special as these examples are, I’m surprised more big spectacular orchestral films aren’t made. Is there a silent film Romeo and Juliet set to Montagues and Capulets out there? People like ballet, still, don’t they? What’s the difference?

It’s not perfect, but War Requiem is a lovely little mix of music, drama, war, and silent statements. Fans of Jarman no doubt love War Requiem, but anti gay audiences might not like some of the latent AIDS commentary here. Having said that, a serious classroom audience might be ripe for a critical viewing- What does War Requiem do right? Where is it wrong? What can we gain from it visually, musically, and socially? It’s been twenty years since War Requiem was made, and we still haven’t learned the lessons it offers. Avante garde and not for all, War Requiem is still a beautiful little film worthy of a look.

Caravaggio

Caravaggio Weird, but Good

By Kristin Battestella

Like most Italians, I’ve always known of Caravaggio and his paintings. Like most Sean Bean fans, I was very happy when the 1986 film Caravaggio came out on DVD last year. It’s weird, hot and bothered, full of layers inside and out. It may not be for everyone, but Caravaggio is an art house lover’s dream.

Young painter with promise Caravaggio (Dexter Fletcher, Nigel Terry) mixes business with pleasure as he sells himself and his art on the street. Eventually he’s taken in by the church and paints religious masterpieces, all the while living a very heady and underground lifestyle. The beautiful Lena (Tilda Swinton) and street fighter Ranuccio (Sean Bean) model for some of Caravaggio’s paintings, but their twisted love triangle cannot last.

When I think of Caravaggio, firstly I think of the incredible canvases onscreen. Director Derek Jarman (War Requiem, Jubilee) has recreated Caravaggio’s paintings in painstaking detail. The highlights of the film are the sequences showing Caravaggio painting his masterpieces from posing models. These scenes are lit perfectly and saturated with vivid colors. It’s as if the art itself was on the screen. American audiences may not take to this quiet, still life look and feel, but you can’t deny the breathtaking living art in Caravaggio.

On the other had, this is one very weird and out there movie! The loud and maniacal sequences are too dizzying and border on the senseless at worst and seem out of place amid the film’s silently beautiful scenes at best. Viewers can take their pick on production values-either considering them extremely poor and low budget or intentionally sporadic and sparse. Why couldn’t Jarman make a straight, period piece costume drama detailing the life of Caravaggio? Regardless of the film’s finances, Jarman chose to make Caravaggio the way he did. Yes, a lot of it is incredibly weird and too over the top, but parts of the movie are also a lot of fun. The intentional anachronisms in Caravaggio add much needed humor and a light air to the film. Typewriters, motorcycles, and calculators add some fun class to this abstract time and place. These pieces also add commentary and statements without words, much as a painting would. Obsessive muckrakers clicking away on typewriters and priests chachinging on their silver calculators-these subtlies say more than exposition ever could.

Despite its lovely look and bizarre feel, the cast of Caravaggio is what makes the movie. Nigel Terry (Excalibur) is fittingly weird and heady as the adult Caravaggio. He is perfect as the X factor and catalyst between Lena and Ranuccio. Its no surprise that this trio worked with Jarman again in 1989’s War Requiem. Although neither is the star and I wish both were onscreen even more than they are, the film debuts of Tilda Swinton (Michael Clayton, The Chronicles of Narnia) and Sean Bean (Sharpe, The Lord of the Rings) put the icing on Caravaggio’s cake. Swinton is both ugly and gorgeous as the jealous and power obsessed Lena. She starts out dirty, ugly, and boyish, but ends up lush, gorgeous, and tragic. Swinton doesn’t say much here, but her onscreen presence is undeniable. Her chemistry with the very young and beautiful Sean Bean is also exquisite.

Sure, I like Sean Bean, but you can’t often call his villainous performances or rough heroes beautiful. In Caravaggio, however, Bean’s Ranuccio is hot, aggressive, statuesque- but severely flawed at the same time. It is no wonder Caravaggio falls prey and preys upon these two misguided young lovers. The cast and the silent symbolism of power and wealth make the film-particularly during one lovely modeling scene between Bean and Terry and the subsequent hammock scene between Swinton and Bean. Yowza!

Naturally, it is easy to see the parallels between director Derek Jarman and his onscreen Caravaggio here. Yes, there’s a lot of subtext and statements both veiled and exposed, but there’s so much more to this film than speculation about Jarman’s controversial life and style. I myself am not a big fan of directors or writers knocking on audiences’ heads with obvious statements and commentary. Thankfully, Caravaggio can be enjoyed for its weird and beautiful style onscreen without any heavy handedness from Jarman. If you’re looking for it, you’ll find it, but you don’t have to adore Jarman to appreciate the vision here. Some of that vision is, in a way, coming from the titular sixteenth century Italian painter himself. His paintings and style dominate the screen- adding to his art and genius and his bittersweet life.

The DVD presentation mirrors the portrait-esque style of Caravaggio with interactive, moving menus. The subtitles are essential in picking up the film’s soft dialogue. There are plenty of interviews and commentary, conceptual art, storyboards, trailers, and galleries to immerse the viewer with Jarman and Caravaggio himself. My DVD also came with a lovely write about the film.

I think it goes without saying that not every is going to like Caravaggio. Although there is nothing extremely overt, prudes or anti art house folks should avoid anything by Derek Jarman. If you have a problem with homoeroticism or anti Catholicism on film, you should also skip Caravaggio. That being said, fans of the titular painter and Jarman’s work probably already adore this film. Bean and Swinton fans should tune in as well. Some of its bad, some of its good-and some of it you may not fully get the first time around, but Caravaggio is a beautiful film with a talented cast. Take a chance on this gem today.