This is a spin-off from the Liam Neeson film franchise. I
gather the films are pretty formulaic, with Neeson’s protagonist, the
ordinary-sounding Bryan Mills, a name that is also used in the TV series, but
which sounds more like a mail-order catalogue from the 1970s than a moniker for
an action hero, tooling up with weapons prior to encountering some cartoon-like
baddies and somehow despatching them one by one. You know the sort of thing I
mean, the films your Dad and brother love and love partly because they know
what to expect. It’s only ever gonna go one way.
Rollo, never without a weapon
The only possible justification for this series is the sex
appeal and presence of Clive Standen
(who I loved as Rollo in Vikings,
let’s face it, he’s not hard to look at) but it’s a poor vehicle for his
talents.He does his best, much like
Patrick Swayze (Rest in Peace) in The Beast* (I’ve
got to say that Travis Fimmel was far better in Vikings than in the latter), with a poorly scripted, poorly plotted
show. I can't fault Standen. Because of his
physique, he’s a much more credible ‘special ops’ guy than Neeson, for
instance, or even Bruce Willis. He delivers his lines, no matter how
nonsensical, with absolute conviction.
Bryan Mills, ditto
It’s just so hackneyed, the storyline from IMDb says Mills
is coping with a personal tragedy as are all the heroes in these shows, from
Leroy Gibbs (Mark Harmon) in NCIS to Patrick
Jane (Simon Baker) in TheMentalist, to Walt (Robert Taylor) in Longmire. Feel free to comment and add
your own.
Jennifer Beals, who is the source of all the missions this
elite team take on and for some reason ends up looking like a man in drag, asks to
see Clive alone to say: ‘I just wanted to check in with you’. He’s bemused:
‘Ok. Why?’ We say: ‘Because you’re sexy?’ I can completely understand why Standen took
the role – a lead in a TV series seems too good to resist, especially when
you’ve been playing second fiddle to Ragnar for a while but he’s capable of
much more than this.
Carrie Mathison
It’s sort of Homeland
without, oh, everything that Homeland has – real suspense, fully developed and
engaging leads, believable storylines, quickfire and natural-seeming dialogue and a character you root for even when she's really annoying you in Claire Danes's Carrie Mathison (like Buffy, 'she saved the world, a lot').
For more on Homeland, see Peter Quinn (Rupert Friend) and Peter Quinn in Homeland.
What we get is a whole load of on-the-nose dialogue (i.e.
dialogue that explains a character’s back-story or tells us what they’re like),
something like ‘So you’ve been sent here after your actions in the whatever
when this and this happened’. See my review of Ferocious Planetfor some good examples. The characters are
stereotypes. There’s always a nerdy computer whiz (a boffin, I love that word),
often Jewish for some reason, who has trouble making small talk or relating to
others.
Patrick Swayze, Travis Fimmel, The Beast
*My favourite line was Swayze’s character, Charles Barker’s comment
on a mysterious band of baddies: ‘It
doesn’thave a name. Sometimes they call
it the Outfit.’ Ok, so that would be a name, Patrick. For more on Travis Fimmel,Clive Standen, etc., see Ragnar and Athelstan. For more on Ragnar, see Travis Fimmel is Ragnar Lothbrok.
I’d only just read Daphne Du Maurier’s book and really liked
it so I looked forward to seeing the movie. This film has the distinction of not only being the worst
adaptation of a novel that I’ve ever seen [for how to make a successful
adaptation, see ITV’s Vanity Fair,
which was near perfect] but is also one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. To
put this in perspective, I’m talking The
Killing of a Sacred Deer bad (oh, Nicole! oh, Colin!), I’m talking Wonder Wheel bad (oh, Kate!). It’s as if
the director Roger Michel took his script from an abridged edition or perhaps
the Cliffs Notes of the novel, and even then one with several random pages torn
out, so that the gist and thrust of the narrative are lost. Because of this, the film version lacks the heart, the logic,
the mystery and therefore the believability of the original story.
The Illustrated Mum
Everything Michel adds grates and jangles with inauthenticity, for
instance he has someone who is evidently a lady, played with verve by the
always excellent Holliday Grainger (I first saw her in the amazing The Illustrated Mum),* talk about dog ‘shit’ when a woman in her
position just wouldn’t have. Then we have a servant say of another: ‘You fucking prickwit’. It’s completely unnecessary. What’s annoying about this is that Du Maurier’s book is full
of dialogue and description. In the film, everything is exaggerated and/or conflated
till it makes no sense. In the book, Ambrose’s letters disclose the course of
his connection with Rachel, with several mentions of the laburnum tree in the
courtyard of Rachel’s villa in Italy, under which Ambrose would sit while
suffering from some recurring unnamed malady and there are many scenes that
show the development of the relationship between Rachel and Philip so that it
seems natural. Everything Michel chooses to omit is vital to any
understanding of the story or empathy with the characters, for instance the
book conveys the life of Ambrose and Philip as a male idyll, with no real need
of a woman’s input, happy and carefree. But Michel barely acknowledges
this, having the same actor play both roles, allowing the impression that there was something wrong with their bachelor
life before she arrived.
Rachel Weisz
I’m sure Rachel Weisz, who plays the eponymous Rachel can act (she usually can) but she fails
to make her Rachel either bewitching or sinister but merely seems a little unhinged,
one minute shouting (which doesn’t happen in the novel and is totally out of
character), the next seductive. I’m not at all sure about Sam Claflin. He’s
incredibly unconvincing as Philip, evincing neither boyish naivety (it comes across as petulance) nor enthusiasm. Together
they create a charisma vacuum that sucks the life out of the rest of the film. The scenes seem to chop and change pointlessly so a single conversation
jumps from an interior to two or three exterior shots, giving us the uneasy
sensation that the characters are for some reason having the same conversation
over and over again in various locales. Watching the film with the subtitles on makes it seem even
sillier as Rachel and Philip are forever ‘chuckling softly’ over nothing. These
chuckles are supposed to indicate the characters’ rapprochement but they are
without foundation if you leave out the dialogue.
Aidan does it better
There’s an obligatory, shirtless sequence (post-Aidan
Turner’s Ross Poldark) that, although it has source in the novel, seems a weird
thing to include when you plan to leave out so much else and the cinematography
showcases the beautiful Cornish countryside much like Poldark. But one of the BBC series' virtues is that it incorporates a lot of Winston Graham's original dialogue thus we get witty repartee and barbed retorts.
Of course, I completely understand that a film might have to
concertina and alter a story a bit (the garden design/landscaping element is
left out altogether – that’s fine) for its own purposes but what we’re left
with is people behaving really oddly for no apparent reason.
By the end of the novel, the reader is certain that Rachel
is poisoning Philip just like she poisoned his cousin, with her eyes firmly
fixed on the prize of his inheritance. Michel decides to leave this one absolute open-ended
as a ‘did she? didn’t she?’, no doubt to try to pique the viewer’s interest but
it turns out to be too little too late. What Du Maurier has depicted with the skill of an Old Master, Constable, for instance, with nuance, subtle detail and depth, Michell has rendered bold and simple in the brush strokes of a painter decorator.
* A brilliant adaptation itself of Jacqueline Wilson's book, in which all three actresses are outstanding: Alice Connor, Michelle Collins and Holliday Grainger. For more film reviews, see secretsquirrelsays.
Ok I have to admit that when the film started, I had
a sinking feeling. Oh no, not one of those documentaries along the lines of
Nick Broomfield/Jacques Peretti where there’s a toneless narration by the film-maker/subject,
expressing no emotion at all. But this turns out to be a false first impression. Plus I’d expected the film to be American (poor
research on my part) because, I’ve worked out, of the image in the programme of
the director and his mother in which they both looked perfect and perfectly
happy and so rather unBritish. I’m glad I assumed wrong though because I may
have felt less intrigued by a British documentary (see above) and chosen
something else and it would have been my loss.
Then there’s the initial focus on the adorable
poppet of a daughter and the assertion that it was only when Iain Cunningham had
his own child that he became determined to unravel the mystery surrounding his
mother, Irene. I have a problem with the notion that only when you become a
parent do you acquire empathy with, compassion for or curiosity about your own
parents.
‘And watching my own child grow through her early
years helped me see the impact my loss had on me. A three-year-old has a huge
capacity for love.’
This implies he's more concerned with how the
loss of his mother affected the child he was, although it's probable she only existed as a vague idea in his head as he was very young when she died, than what caused her disappearance. His father did what he thought was best for both of them at the time, he remarried and his wife, June, became to all intents and
purposes, Iain’s mother so let's hear it for June, may she rest in peace.
With these misgivings, it’s remarkable how soon and
how easily the film won me round. Here's the trailer.
Iain and his father
Iain starts his brave undertaking by interrogating his relatives, encountering
some initial reluctance particularly on the part of his father. Undeterred, he
sets about knocking on doors, following clues and meeting his mother’s friends,
who share many fond and sometimes quite detailed recollections of Irene and
their collective past, for instance, of her sitting on a gate singing ‘King of
the Road’ by Roger Miller. Their memories bring her alive. It appears she was
well loved and one friend in particular, Lynn, is demonstrably glad of the
chance to reminisce about the best friend who no one ever mentions now, who she
lost so long ago. There’s a very real sense of sadness and confusion
over what happened and why.
The extreme close-ups on the interviewees’ faces
mirror and exacerbate for the viewer the discomfort they feel in talking about
an awkward subject.
Gradually we come to realise that Irene was
hospitalised after the birth of her son, then allowed out for a while (when the
gloriously happy picture was taken) then rehospitalised when her illness
recurred. There’s an unspoken consensus that it was some physical complication
during childbirth that led to Irene’s death, a heavy burden for a child to
carry and so a very good reason to keep a secret. Iain gains some insight when
he finds his baby book in amongst some old boxes of photos. There are strange
scrawlings about God, baby, etc., not exactly the pride and joy a new mother might
express. This suggests that there was something awry with Irene’s thought
processes.
Lynn and Irene
We learn that when Lynn went to visit Irene in
hospital (which she didn’t first time around because she and other friends were
led to believe that Irene was in a coma, the truth being unsayable), Irene
didn’t recognise her and had started seeing things that weren’t there, becoming
paranoid and loud, acting out of character.
Even when Irene is at home, she doesn’t feel the
same, saying ‘I’m not Irene, you know, I’m Irene’s ghost.’ And there’s no doubt
that to her family she must have seemed like a different person.
As was common in those days, any hint of mental
instability was hushed up. It turns out that Irene suffered from post-partum
psychosis (as it is called today) that led her to behave in a way that would
have been quite frightening to all who knew her.
When the psychosis returned, she was readmitted to hospital and died soon after. Her death certificate
records the cause of death as ‘cardiac arrest’. No one seems to question –
maybe it’s too difficult (and certainly too late) to consider – whether the
electric shock treatment she was given affected her heart.
So Iain’s persistence pays off and the film’s slow reveal helps us to
comprehend the true horror of what happened to Irene.
It’s quite probable that Iain’s father felt guilt, fear,
confusion and helplessness when faced with something that no one really had any
idea about (not even the doctors), that even today carries a stigma, that
people felt could (and should) not be talked about.
Symptoms of post-partum psychosis usually start suddenly within
the first two weeks after giving birth. More rarely, they can develop
several weeks after the baby is born and include hallucinations, delusions, mania,
depression, loss of inhibitions, paranoia, restlessness, confusion, out of
character behaviour.
BFI London Film Festival 2018
The film, as well as being an investigation into the
mystery behind Irene’s death and her complete eradication from their family history,
also acts to rehabilitate her memory, so that she can take her place in the
lives of her descendants, as a vital, normal, caring young woman who suffered
an illness that inevitably hastened her end but need not define her.
Irene's Ghost is profoundly affecting. Many of us were in
tears by the end. And you can't say better than that. Art should move you. I
hope that the producer, Rebecca Mark-Lawson is able to procure a wider release as this sensitive film raises awareness about a devastating condition that is still
not in common parlance. It deserves to be seen by as many people as possible.
Anything you’ve ever wanted to know about Frank Sinatra is in these two
books ...
I absolutely loved both Frank
Sinatra biographies by James Kaplan: Frank:
The Voice and Sinatra: The Chairman. Any criticism he
expresses is tempered with insight and understanding so although Frank’s behaviour is
presented as often bad, it’s interpreted with respect and love for the man and his talent.
First, they are
incredibly well written, every word apposite, with none of that almost
inevitable repetition you get from inferior biographers.
Second, they’re so meticulously
researched that I’m in awe of his skill. Everything is assiduously and
entertainingly followed up on, connected with every relevant part or fact or
rumour. They really are exhaustive. Because of this, they are huge tomes and will
take many hours to read – but they’re worth every minute.
Sinatra: The Chairman
In two pages I learn more
about Frank Sinatra than I did about David Bowie from Dylan Jones’s whole book, David Bowie: A
Life, which was a particularly one-dimensional affair. See my David Bowie: A Life review.
For instance, although they
sound a little like the facts that would be gleaned from a girl’s magazine
questioning a teenybopper idol (am I showing my age?), it’s fascinating to me
that Frank’s favourite foods (apart from marinara pasta) were cans of franksnbeans or
grilled cheese sandwiches. I love this, it shows he didn’t stray far from his
roots, that he was more than satisfied with something ordinary that anyone
could eat at any time. You can take the boy out of Hoboken … .
And that his favourite colour
was orange and his homes, planes (yes, let’s not forget that he was super rich
and would think nothing of sending one of these planes to pick up someone he
wanted to see at the drop of a hat) were decorated in orange and
black.
Here are just four examples
of Kaplan's incredible attention to detail and the way he manages to relate and
interpolate so many seemingly disparate facts.
Frank and Ava
1. Ava Gardner (the one that
got away) had an affair with the director of a film she starred in (Ride,
Vaquero!, 1953) while she was married to Frank. The director was John Farrow. A
few years down the line Frank married the guy’s daughter, Mia. How’d you like
them apples? A bit of not quite instant karma.
2. He reminded me of a
fact that I had forgotten, that the Beatles wrote ‘Dear Prudence’ to Mia
Farrow’s sister to convince her to leave her room and join them, when they were all in India with the Maharishi
Mahesh Yogi.
3. It is pointed out that one
of the singing duo, Jan and Dean, Dean Torrence, who later appeared on a bill
with Sinatra, was originally charged in the kidnap of Frankie, Jr, Frank’s son.
4. We learn that Sinatra was desperate to play Angelo Maggio in From Here to Eternity (1953) after reading the book by James Jones, before a movie was even dreamt of. He was determined to get this role, sending telegrams and letters to director Fred Zinnemann, begging for the part and signing himself as Maggio. He ended up delivering possibly the performance of his career and winning an Academy Award.
Kaplan's effort is an astonishing, daring
and flawless juggling act.
Brad Dexter
Even an aside is delivered
with wit and insight. For instance, we learn about an incident when Frank
nearly drowned. There’s a difference of opinion over who saved him or even whether he needed saving. One possible rescuer is given as Brad Dexter. Kaplan says
he’s the member of The Magnificent Seven (1960), who everyone
forgets. Test your friends, he’s right.
It’s as if we’re tracing the
patterns of certain threads in a tapestry, from where they end back to where
they start or vice versa, everything analysed, examined as one brilliant colour
or interesting shape, understood separately, but also as part of the whole
glorious picture. Or it’s a patchwork quilt, designed by an artist so that each
patch conveys an element of the story. It’s a work that seems effortless but of
course isn’t. I have to give Kaplan kudos for making it seem so.
Frank Sinatra, 23, 'iconic mugshot'
There are a couple of very
minor errors that I have to point out because I’m an editor by trade. The image
on p. 14 of the first volume, of Frank’s first communion, is repeated on p. 66
but captioned the ‘iconic mugshot’, supposedly taken when young Frank was
arrested (for seduction no less). Plus he loses a couple of points for
‘iconic’, the most overused word in the English language. I can't remember the
number of times I’ve exclaimed to the TV when they use the phrase, which seems
to be daily, ‘iconic image’, ‘AN ICON IS AN IMAGE!’
James Kaplan
Also, the subtitle for the
first volume, Frank is different on
the title page to the jacket. The Making
of a Legend vs The Voice.
But, if you're at all interested in Sinatra, you must read these books - they will fuel your fascination and satisfy your curiosity.
