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By Ronan Watters Last night, I decided to sit down and watch a film that I hadn’t seen in quite some time. That film was American Beauty (1999). It was my third time viewing it, but it was my first time to watching it since the allegations against Kevin Spacey were made back in October 2017. While I was able to get through the film and enjoy it as much as the previous times I had seen it, there was a creeping thought in the back of my head that wouldn’t stop persisting throughout the first half an hour of the film: “Kevin Spacey is in this.” Since he was first accused of sexual misconduct, more than 30 people have made allegations, including attempted rape, against Spacey. Apart from one incredibly bizarre video he uploaded in late 2018, where he seemed to defend himself against the allegations by using his Frank Underwood character from House of Cards, we haven’t heard much from him since actor Anthony Rapp first blew the whistle on his depraved behaviour. This led me to ask myself a question after I finished watching American Beauty: Is it possible to watch an entertainers work without the controversies of their personal lives influencing our opinions of the work they are in? The actions of Spacey and others like him should not be dismissed. They rightfully deserve the hate being thrown at them, as some people in the entertainment industry have gotten away with their sick behaviour for decades. Yet I found myself confused, because I was still able to watch American Beauty. While I thought about the allegations against Spacey for about half an hour into the film, I was still captivated by it. Bar one half of the storyline, which sees Spacey’s Lester Burnham sexually fantasise about his daughter’s underage friend Angela (which makes the real life allegations all the more uncomfortable), I was able to watch in awe of the countless other great performances in the film, from Annette Benning and Thora Birch as Burnham’s long suffering wife and daughter to Wes Bentley and Chris Cooper as troubled father and son. The cinematography, direction, and writing are to be admired as well. Conrad Hall shoots the film beautifully under the tight direction of Sam Mendes. The film went on to win five Academy Awards in 2000 and is still thought of as one of the best American movies ever made. But people I have spoken to have told me that they can’t watch it solely due to the presence of Spacey. I am not speaking for anyone bar myself, but I am torn about whether we should dismiss the work of controversial entertainers, as they are not the only people who have worked on their respective projects. Anyone with a small interest in films will know that hundreds upon hundreds of people can work on a film at a time, especially on big budget films. Should their work be all for nothing because of the actions of one of the stars? Some people use the argument that those who work on the films “don’t care” about all that because they still get paid. But that’s where they are wrong. Many people who work on these films do it because they love it. They want to get their film that they have tirelessly laboured over out there for people to see, and I’m sure there is nothing more frustrating than when their work is overshadowed by the actions of one individual. One of my friends told me that he didn’t know that Harvey Weinstein was a producer on Pulp Fiction, though his name is proudly displayed in the opening credits. His enjoyment of the film is ruined because the thought of Weinstein being involved in any way now sends shivers down his spine. That leads to another question: the severity of what they are being accused of. Weinstein has received the most attention as he was the first big name to be exposed by the media for his abusive behaviour. The “Weinstein Effect” has seen other powerful men be ousted as abusers. One man accused of allegations is Dustin Hoffman. Seven women have accused Hoffman of misconduct, while Weinstein has been accused by over 80 women. I am not dismissing what Hoffman allegedly did, but this example shows who the media targets more: We are still talking about people like Weinstein and Spacey, yet Hoffman has remained largely quiet, just as the media have remained quiet about him.
My thinking about Kevin Spacey also led me to think of others in Hollywood who have seen their behaviour exposed to the limelight. I began thinking about Roman Polanski, a man who was convicted in 1977 of drugging and raping a 13 year old girl, a man who fled to France when he learned the judge was going to lock him up, a man who won the Best Director Oscar in 2003 for his work on The Pianist (2002) and was visibly applauded by his peers in Hollywood. Since the rise of the Me Too movement, behaviour like this is not tolerated anymore, and rightfully so. But I myself am still able to watch Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and Chinatown (1974) without letting Polanski’s real life crime distract me from his films. At first, I thought I was being too cold and ignorant, but my personal feeling is that we shouldn’t let the hard work of so many people be thrown to the waste due to the actions of one single individual. It reminds me of the controversy surrounding Liam Neeson. Neeson’s new film Cold Pursuit (2019) was to have a red carpet event for the premiere, but was swiftly cancelled in the wake of accusations of racism against Neeson. I saw the film myself last week and enjoyed it thoroughly, and was able to immerse myself into the film without letting the real life controversy surrounding Neeson ruin my enjoyment of the film. Of course, Neeson is dealing with a whole different type of accusation compared to men like Spacey, Weinstein and Polanski. The controversy surrounding Neeson warrants an article of its own. As I have stated, this is only my opinion on the matter. Many people will disagree with me and that is fine. I am not defending these men, but I can immerse myself into a film without thinking of the actions of one individual. I can appreciate a film for what it is and I can respect the hard work of others without letting it be spoiled by the depraved, sick and selfish actions of some. The presence of entertainers embroiled in controversy can be distracting for a while, but I still find myself enjoying their work.
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By Lorna Breen Over the past few years, our cinemas have been dominated by superheroes. Whether it is an epic Avengers movie, a spin-off for a superhero you had never heard of before, or a DC film that gets ripped apart by critics, there seems to always be a superhero flick at the box office every few months. Personally, I have grown a little tired of these films. While I always look forward to seeing the big-name heroes team up for an epic like Avengers: Infinity War (2018), I cannot sustain my excitement for all the spin-off films as there are simply too many of them. When I heard that there was going to be another major Spider-Man film, this time an animated one, I really could not believe it. This character has had his origin story told twice, with 5 movies released before he officially joined the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Tom Holland’s take on the character had his own film, Spider-Man: Homecoming released in 2017 and has a sequel on the way. At this point, most people have grown tired of watching Spider-man’s beginnings and instead want to move on to more exciting and fresh stories. However, after seeing this film, I regret having my doubts. This film takes us into the “Spider-Verse,” where there are multiple universes. In these alternative universes, there are different versions of Spider-Man. It focuses on one universe where Brooklyn teenager Miles Morales, voiced by Shameik Moore, has his world turned upside down when he takes on the role of Spider-Man and learns about these different dimensions. The movie is self-aware, and repeatedly has the different versions of the hero introduce themselves, mentioning that they were bitten by a radioactive spider at the beginning of each of their quick origin stories. It is as if they are poking fun at the amount of times we as an audience have seen Peter Parker’s origin story played out in front of us. The lovable main character Miles struggles with his new powers and does not feel ready to take on the role as Spider-Man. His unwilling mentor from another dimension, Peter B. Parker helps him adjust to his new life. It was so intriguing to see Peter Parker, not as a high schooler but instead as middle-aged, slightly overweight and pairing sweatpants with his iconic costume. While the “reluctant mentor” is something we see a lot in film, it works perfectly here as Miles tries to follow his advice and understand that “with great power comes great responsibility." Then we have characters like Spider-Man Noir, a version of Peter Parker from the 1930s, Spider-Hamm who used to be a spider but was bitten by a radioactive pig and Peni, a girl from an anime-like universe who controls a powerful suit with a radioactive spider telepathically. In addition to these heroes, we see a version of Gwen Stacy take on the role of Spider-Woman. While this might seem like an overload of Spider-Men, these characters work perfectly together, each bringing something unique to the table and plenty of laughs. I personally found the humour in this film to be much better than the typical humour found in a Marvel film. The snarky one-liners in a typical Marvel film tend to fall flat at times and are often misplaced, deflating a lot of serious moments. However, in this case, I have never experienced an audience so amused by a Marvel film before. The jokes land perfectly one after the other, yet they know when to cut the humour too.
Not only is the humour good, but so is the action. Everyone who leaves the cinema after seeing this film says the same thing and it really is true: it is a comic book brought to life. It is full of bright colours, mimicking the street art that Miles spray paints throughout the movie. A scene which I think best showcases the stunning animation is the “Leap of Faith” scene. Miles has finally built up the courage to truly become a hero and is about to take a leap of faith, something his mentor told him about. This scene is gorgeous as we watch the protagonist run along the rooftops of New York at night and swing over the traffic below him as he realises who he is – Spider-Man. This scene solidified this movie as my favourite film of the year as it is such a breath of fresh air. It leaves you craving more films like this: films that are not afraid to take their own leaps of faith and try something different. It leaves you with the song “Sunflower” stuck in your head, too. Rating: 9/10 By Ilsa Flynn I recently went to see the film Another Day of Life, directed by Raúl de la Fuente and Damian Nenow. Going into the film I was honestly unsure of what to expect. I knew very little regarding the plot or those involved with the film. When I left the cinema, however, I was spellbound. The gravity of the events that occured and the way in which it was composed was unlike anything I had seen before.
The film is based on Polish journalist Ryszard Kapuściński’s novel of the same name. As a foreign correspondent for the Polish press agency, Kapuściński traveled the world and made people aware of the atrocities that were ongoing in places far from their own. Wherever he went he felt a great commitment to those who surrounded him to help in some fashion. This can be seen obviously in his writing, as I was compelled to research his work after seeing the film. In Another Day of Life, he is in Angola during their civil war. The film follows him as he goes from Luanda, the capital, and around the country. He discovers death and destruction comparable to a hellscape. The animation of the film captures his narrative style beautifully. The blatant surrealism that we have become accustomed, along with animation, mirrors the feelings he conveyed through his writing. Despite watching a completely fabricated world, each moment of the film felt completely real to me. Each frame was so delicately created and entranced me completely. His experiences and concerns were there on the screen in front of me and I did not doubt him for a second. The live action interviews with those who were involved in his expedition and photographs of his travels that were included also rocked me to my core, the transition from the imaginary to the reality felt so seamless, so, so brilliant. A huge part of the film was how it was based on a true story, and it was a film rather than a documentary. Kapuściński has been accused of adding colour or even lying in his writing and has sadly lost his credibility to many of those in his native country. However, many believe he was just pushing the boundaries of journalism, and that while everything he wrote may not have been 100% factual but his intent was to keep everyone who he encountered and his own beliefs at the forefront of his writing. This is why I believe this film is even more genius. The film does not try to tell his story as if it played out action for action, they animate it. The world comes apart and rearranges itself in front of your eyes. It is a film, a window to the imagination. The colour he adds to the story conveys how he felt. This was his truth. The story is based on the individual experience of Kapuściński himself. I love how blatant they make this. It is a slap in the face for traditional film culture where filmmakers feel it is necessary to mimic reality as much as possible, the accent training and the prosthetics and so on, and it is refreshing to find a film that fully accepts what it is. By Robert O'Sullivan In 2015, James Franco appeared in nine films--all of which (apart from one) failed both critically and financially. So, naturally, when in late 2015 I heard Franco was undertaking the drastic responsibility of not only directing an adaptation of The Disaster Artist, a memoir about the hilariously awful 2003 cult hit The Room, but also starring as Tommy Wiseau, the writer, director, producer, star and possible vampire behind the infamous trainwreck, I was very sceptical. Nonetheless, when the film hit theatre screens in December 2017, me and a few of my close friends, all of us superfans of The Room, made the trip up to The Lighthouse in Dublin and hoped for the best while preparing for the worst. Fortunately, to our delight, The Disaster Artist was a delight of a film, filled with laughs and references to the cult hit, while also humanising the story and making it a touching tale of friendship. The film, of course, centres around Tommy (James Franco), but also around his co-lead in the 2003 film, Greg Sestero (Dave Franco), who co-wrote the memoir. The film begins in an acting class in the late 90s, where it is clear that Greg lacks the necessary confidence to lose himself in a role, often being too aware of his own surroundings. It is at this point that the mysterious Tommy volunteers to do a scene, and in contrast to Greg, Tommy lacks any sense of self-awareness, throwing himself into the deep-end and committing fully to an over the top, primal scream-fuelled acting style. It is from this point that their friendship blossoms, as Greg realises he can use Tommy as a medium for gaining more confidence on stage. The duo embarks on a move to Los Angeles to try make it big, but while Greg finds an agent and goes on many auditions – although with generally poor results, Tommy finds it impossible to find an agency or any acting coaches willing to take him on. Frustrated, Tommy decides that he will simply make his own movie and stun the world with his filmmaking that they all rejected. And boy, did he do just that. Where The Disaster Artist thrives is in its portrayal of Tommy. While it would have been easy to make him out to be a crazy manchild with too much money and have the audience just laugh at his sorry attempts at film-making, the screenwriters, who went on to be nominated for the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, chose to look at him from a different angle as just a man with a passion who everyone rejected. The film suggests that while it’s easy to laugh at a clown, it is also important to look at why they are in the makeup. When he decides to make a film of his own, the audience is not laughing at his misguided confidence, but rather rooting for him and supporting him after seeing him get hit down again and again, time after time. Franco understands this complex form of Tommy, and portrays with him a childlike innocence and naivete, while also getting the iconic voice just right, a feat which cannot be overlooked. It is easy to see why Franco was attracted to the project. Like Tommy, he tends to be a little bit offbeat. Both of them let their ambition drive them instead of reason. While passion is always coursing through the veins of each and every project they do, that passion does not always translate to quality on screen. And like Tommy, Franco is not afraid to laugh at himself and go along with the joke. But this connection between the two allows Franco to tap into a deeper level of the pseudo-filmmaker, his gaze alone will often convey how he is deep in his own subconscious while also not being self-aware in any capacity.
Franco invited a handful of his friends to be apart of the film also, so the crew of The Room is star-studded in its own right, with Seth Rogen, Zac Efron, Josh Hutcherson, Paul Sheer and Academy Award-nominee Jacki Weaver making up the ensemble, and while each of them have their moment to shine, like Weaver delivering the iconic “I definitely have breast cancer” line, the Sestero-Wiseau relationship remains the centrepiece to the film and it never deviates too far from the thematic throughline. Even after the duo have a fight and go their separate ways, they reconnect for the premiere at the end of the film. The premiere goes about as well as you would imagine the premiere of The Room would go, with the audience first reacting in horror to the awful film-making, deadpan acting and gratuitous frames of Wiseau’s naked body. As the film progresses, however, the audience comes to find humour in the imperfections and by the end they love watching the film. While Tommy initially bursts into tears and marches out of the screening, Greg explains to him that he made a crowd-pleasing film and that he should simply embrace that. It’s finally here where Tommy begins to garner self-awareness and takes pride in his imperfect attempt at a film. I think that this film is essential viewing for any film student, or really any student in general, to learn that things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. Sometimes you go in trying to make a Tennessee Williams-esque drama and you inadvertently make one of the funniest so-bad-it’s-good films of all time. The most important thing is to own it and take it in your stride rather than shy away from it and pretend it never happened. Because if Tommy Wiseau did that, no one would ever have had that rooftop scene to re-enact By Meabh Aine Broderick In every aspect of culture, trends come and go. In the early noughties, the velour tracksuit took the fashion world by storm while blonde frosted tips seemed to be sprouting from men’s hair everywhere. Thankfully these trends were short lived and have since been long forgotten. However, in the world of film, some trends are not so easy to say goodbye to and one particularly stubborn trend is that of nostalgia. The use of nostalgia manifests itself in several different ways. It may be a remake of a decade’s old film or a long-awaited sequel released a dozen years after the original films release. It could come in the form of an adaptation of a beloved comic book or novel from your childhood or simply possess countless references to fond memories of the past littered throughout. No matter how it is used, there is no denying that audiences, young and old, seem to respond. Of the top ten grossing films worldwide of 2018, it can be argued that each of them benefitted from nostalgia in one way or another. Whether they are frontrunners in the age of comic book adaptations like Avengers Infinity War or Black Panther, a call back to the glory days of historic music legends like Bohemian Rhapsody, or additions to beloved childhood franchises such as Fantastic Beasts, The Crimes of Grindelwald, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom, and The Incredibles 2, they all managed to climb their way to the top by tapping into that longing for the past that resides inside all of us. However, as is to be expected when dealing with something so near and dear to our hearts, the slightest misstep can spark a wave of hate and outrage. To explore this, I am going to discuss the initial reactions to the trailer for the upcoming remake of beloved Disney classic The Lion King. In 2017, Disney announced all the upcoming remakes and reboots they had planned to release in the coming years. While the whole list seemed to inspire both excitement and fear, the one that seemed to spark the most discussion was The Lion King. Since the initial release of that list, anticipation only grew, until finally, Disney eased the pain that accompanied the agonising wait for its release by giving us a taste of what to expect with a teaser trailer for The Lion King in November 2018. Admittedly, after one watch of this trailer I could hear my inner child scream with excitement and I have to say that, for a moment, I was sold. However, when my anticipation came to be too much and I craved another viewing, something seemed to change. There was something all too familiar about what I was watching. Maybe it was simply the sound of the frequently referenced cry that opens the Circle of Life or the iconic image of the lion cub lifted up to the heavens. Or maybe it was linked to the voice of the Mufasa we all know and love from the original making a reappearance. Whatever it was that was sparking this feeling, I decided to take a look back at the trailer for the original The Lion King from 1994. It was there where I found my answers. The reason it felt so familiar was because I had seen it before. The trailer for The Lion King (2019) is really nothing more than a shot for shot remake of the original. Of course the animation style was vastly different as this newer version was made to replicate a ‘live-action’ remake of the original. However, apart from this, the trailer offered nothing new to excite me about the film. The whole point in remaking beloved classics is to add to what we already loved and offer new and interesting developments to aspects that may have been absent from the original. This is why the 2016 remake of The Jungle Book proved to be such a success. The original version was made in 1967 and only had a runtime of 78 minutes. This meant that for a modern audience, who had become accustomed to a runtime above 90 minutes, a lot was left to be desired, calling for a modern reincarnation of the classic. This is where I take issue with the decision to remake The Lion King. The 1994 version is arguably Disney’s greatest animated film to date. I was not born until years after its release, yet the love for the film remained as strong as ever and was passed onto me in my early years. It continues to garner praise and appreciation from both the public and critics today. Therefore, no matter how well-made the remake is, it will always be held in the shadow of the original. Despite my scepticism, I was shocked to find, the very evening following the trailers release, an outpouring of love surfaced online as audience members could not contain their excitement. It appears as if nobody cared that they had seen it all before. In fact that is what excited them the most. They rejoiced at the idea of reliving their childhood and likely did not want to see anything new. While the trailer alone is certainly not enough to truly judge the film, Disney appears to be intentionally building it in the exact same image as the original to incite this very reaction. With nostalgia as its driving force, I have no doubt that audiences will come out in their droves on the film’s opening weekend and no matter what their response is, the film will likely be a huge financial success. Therein lies our answer for why studios seem to be relying more and more on nostalgia to promote their films. Money, which comes as no big surprise, is the driving force behind all of this. As long as audiences keep showing up and nostalgia remains as successful in its production of profits, studios will continue to pump out this content until there is nothing left to remake.
But why exactly do modern audiences relentlessly crave this warm feeling of nostalgia? While it has been around for decades in films such as Big (1988) and Stand by Me (1986), which remind adult viewers of their young carefree days, in the last decade, nostalgia seems to have dominated Hollywood to the point where it is has become difficult to find fully original content. It is easy to criticise the trend and say its existence is due to Hollywood's loss of ideas but if this were the true reason, audiences would likely not respond so positively. There is no real way of knowing the exact reasoning, but it is possible that the growing demand for such content suggests that the desire may not lie in the longing for the past but the disdain for the present. The current political climate is filled with negativity as the future is filled with uncertainties. While America is under the power of a heavily criticised leader, Europe sits in fear of what Brexit may mean for the future. Meanwhile, global warming is threatening our future while war endangers the lives of millions. In a world filled with uncertainty, the only thing that remains unchanged and certain is our past. Therefore, the increasing demand for nostalgic content may stem from this. Frequently, the memories retained from the past are positive, either because the subject was too young to have been aware of the problems or has chosen to forget them. Either way, the desire to reflect on the past does not indicate that the present is in a worse state than the years prior to it. It simply suggests that audiences seek to escape the uncertainty of the future by reflecting on the unchanging, fond memories of the past. by John Finbarr McGarr Bohemian Rhapsody (2018) is directed by Brian Singer and Dexter Fletcher, allegedly. It is a biopic of legendary singer, Freddie Mercury. Or it could be a biopic of the band Queen -- it is not clear which. Mercury is on all of the promotional material and is the lead character, but the film never really delves into his life beyond what can be found on Wikipedia. The majority of the film is dedicated to the rise of popularity of Queen, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but it does it in the most bizarre way: by showing how each individual song was written and how the public reacted to it. It all felt like filler, as if the writers realised they were lacking half a movie’s worth of story, so instead opted to show off Queen songs in the hopes that the audiences would get excited by seeing something they recognise. The most frustrating part is that there was a genuinely interesting story to be told about Freddie Mercury, but the remaining band members of Queen apparently refused to allow it to be shown because it focused too much on Mercury. So, instead, the story is just the writers ticking off a checklist of Queen songs. The only song that had an interesting creation was the titular song Bohemian Rhapsody. The debate with the producer over the song’s length was potentially interesting, but it ends before it gets the chance to take off. The audience’s general reaction to Bohemian Rhapsody was another source of potential interest, but it was conveyed in such a strange way: The film shows the cast re-enacting the iconic music video as quotes from critics begin to surface across the screen. It even highlights the bigger news outlets, like the Wall Street Journal, making the film come across as arrogant and egotistical. While modern audiences may disagree with the initial reaction to Bohemian Rhapsody, the movie essentially villainizes any negative opinion toward the song. Another aspect of the scene is that it feels so lazy. It would not be surprising to hear that showing off all the negative critiques was added as a last minute decision. Speaking of lazy, the plot is generic and uninspired--the writers probably didn’t know that they had to have an idea of what the movie was going to be before they start writing. In the beginning, there is an actual scene that goes something like (paraphrasing): “Oh no, our lead singer just abandoned us and tonight’s the night we perform, we need a new singer right now!” Then Freddy Mercury introduces himself to them. Apparently, that is not how Queen formed, so instead of showing the real way the band came together, someone thought it would be a good idea to go with the most clichéd approach possible. This would be acceptable for a children’s movie but not for a movie that is aimed at audiences aged 15+. All of the people who grew up with Queen in the 70s and 80s would be in their forties or fifties now, so why is it written for children to understand? Every single story beat is so predictable that you can see it coming from a mile away: Everything from the aforementioned cliché of Queen coming together, to the band learning that their latest song is a huge hit, to when the band members fall out with each before regrouping before the big performance. When Queen (in real life) first found out one of their songs was a success was when all four of them were in an elevator together and heard it over the radio; they nearly crashed the elevator because of how excited they got when they heard the news. In the movie, instead of showing that, someone walks into the room and tells them the news-- the most basic, barebones, forgettable, lazy and uninteresting way of conveying that information. The plot is so clichéd that you could time it so that you can go to the toilet and not miss anything important.
The whole movie probably felt so directionless because it did not have a director. According to rumours, Brian Singer was fired after he continually failed to show up on set, forcing the cinematographer to direct some scenes, and then Dexter Fletcher stepped in to finish off the post production. Therefore, many scenes lack any sort of creativity or vision behind them. It felt so mechanical that you could easily imagine the process of filming this movie; set up scene, press record, act out scene, cut. The finale of this movie, the legendary Live Aid performance, was so underwhelming that it deflated the whole scene. The CGI of the crowd and stadium stood out like a sore thumb, forcing me to think of the small handful of extras that were actually on set. To make it worse, the camera kept cutting back to the same few excited faces of the Live Aid audience, making it seem so small-scale and minimal. Live Aid was a famous event because of how huge it was, but the movie does it a disservice by reminding the audience that they couldn’t even assemble a crowd larger than twelve people. To the movie’s credit, all of the performances were fine, Rami Malek was decent as Freddy Mercury, although it was incredibly obvious whenever he was lip syncing. The set design was good and there were a few moments that were funny. However, I am genuinely struggling to think of anything else of quality. Why does this movie even exist? The non-existent director clearly had no interest in the project, the band members of Queen limited the movie’s depth by restricting what could be shown, and anything of note that happened in real life was replaced with a less exciting version. The irony of Bohemian Rhapsody is that it depicts Queen as a unique band that broke trends and used their talent and creativity to propel themselves to the music legends that they are today, while the movie is the most cookie-cutter, by the books and conformist series of events imaginable. Rating: 4/10 by Oscar O'Sullivan Hollywood seems to love adaptations, right? It is fairly easy to see why. In theory, throwing together a new version of an existing property is much simpler and more convenient than creating another franchise from scratch. You also get a built-in fanbase, who will surely turn out in droves to see your film. So why is it that Hollywood has a track record of fumbling these sure things? Maybe it is because adaptation is not quite as easy as it seems. Appeasing existing fans while drawing in new viewers, staying faithful to the original while still differing enough to be worth making in the first place, adaptation is a series of balancing acts in which failure is far easier and more common than success. Hollywood’s latest attempt has come in the form of Alita: Battle Angel (2019), based on the 1990 manga series Gunnm. If you want to talk about difficult adaptations, no medium has had a rougher time on the big screen than anime and manga. Part of this is due to the outlandish visuals common to the medium being impossible to recreate faithfully in live action. Another factor is the difficulty of compressing serialized, weekly plotlines with bustling, rotating casts of characters into two-hour films with a few central protagonists and villains. Having seen Alita for myself, I can confidently say that it is the best Hollywood adaptation of a manga property, hands-down. As a movie by itself, Alita is not brilliant, but it is leagues ahead of disasters like Ghost in the Shell (2017) or Dragon Ball Evolution (2009). Its success where others have failed can be boiled down to the mechanics of how it was adapted (mild spoilers ahead for the film and the manga): The film adapts Gunnm’s first four volumes into a two-hour film. The film is mostly faithful in its approach to the story, simply changing the order of some events and introducing characters earlier than in the original work. The restructuring does work in many places. The most significant example of improvement is the film’s handling of Alita’s second body, the Berserker. In the original manga, the powerful Martian body is given to her by Ido in the second chapter. The film instead has her discover the body herself while exploring a wrecked spacecraft, and only has her attached to it after the halfway point. Rather than a gift, the Berserker body is now something that Alita earns through her own agency. The movie’s withholding of the upgrade until later in the story also raises Alita’s badass cred. The purpose of the brawl in the Hunter’s bar is completely changed by the adaptation. Originally, the scene served to demonstrate the power of Alita’s new form, as she effortlessly manhandles dozens of hardened cyborgs. The film’s version of events plays out almost exactly the same, but with the crucial difference being that Alita is not using the Berserker body. Instead of highlighting the Berserker’s power, the fight now highlights the inherent power and skill of Alita herself. Changes like these, while benefiting the protagonist, can take their toll on the plot. Grewishka in the manga was the main threat for the entire first volume. His defeat at the beginning of volume two marked the end of that plotline, the beginning of Alita’s growth into the warrior she would later become, and the three-chapter fight is a suitably epic send-off for Alita’s first rival. However, the jumbling of events in the film takes away from Grewishka’s significance. He is one of four villains that are active in the plot, and having to share the spotlight with more developed or entertaining villains like Vector and Zappan, both of whom come after him in the manga’s story, greatly reduces Grewishka’s significance. Instead of Alita’s arch-nemesis, he is essentially The Heavy for the film’s villain ensemble. There is no time here for his backstory, or for any exploration of his motivations. The Grewishka of the film is a glorified goon, with barely enough dialogue and screen time to distinguish him from the nameless cyborgs Alita slaughters by the dozen during action set pieces. Inevitably, the process of adaptation has created as many problems as it has fixed. Most of the film moves at an acceptable pace, but the fact that it amalgamates two successive plotlines from the manga while mashing in parts of a third muddles the structure. The first volume’s plotline is sprinkled with elements of volume two, specifically Alita’s romance with Hugo and the presence of Vector. As I mentioned, the Grewishka plotline ends abruptly about halfway through the film, only to be resolved in under a minute after the film’s climax. The remainder of Hugo’s plotline is amalgamated with the later Motorball arc, replacing a short duel between Alita and a samurai-like Hunter with a visually stunning chase sequence, with Alita evading and obliterating an array of distinctly designed and deadly pursuers. This set piece works well as a replacement for the original battle, which would have necessitated the introduction of yet another under-developed villain. After this high-stakes sequence, the film limps to its conclusion, cramming two chapters of events into the final minutes of the film, then ending on a sequel hook. The ending squashes multiple resolutions together in a rapid-fire barrage, and none of them have half of the impact of the original. The conclusion feels rushed, which may be partially due to how much longer the movie’s opening feels when compared to the opening chapters of the manga. Changes made to characters can also be a mixed bag, but are positive on the whole. Hugo suffers the most from adaptation, and is undoubtedly the movie’s weakest character. The film’s decision to introduce him at the start is a good move on the surface, ostensibly giving the audience more time to get to know him, and making his romance with Alita feel less rushed and unbelievable. In this case though, the serialised structure of the manga worked better for Hugo’s story. Hugo was the pivotal character of volume two, and Alita was essentially a supporting character in his plotline. Film Hugo is a supporting love interest, bland and underdeveloped. His backstory from the manga isn’t so much as alluded to, so the tragedy of his struggles and solid motivations are completely lost on the audience. Hugo’s likeability is further damaged by a bland performance from Keean Johnson, who plays the character as the generic YA fiction teen heartthrob. Manga Hugo was a cheeky, Aladin-esque scamp, whose optimism and hope is worn down and shattered by the harsh reality of his situation in life. Film Hugo is utterly unmemorable, a plot device for Alita’s growth as a character. Other performances in the film are much stronger on the whole, and other characters fare much better from the changes made for the film. Zappan, who was an arrogant, minor foe in the original work, is given more prominence in the film as the Hunter-Warrior who chases down Hugo in the climax to get to Alita. Ed Skrein plays him with an entertaining smugness, making him a perfect love-to-hate character; you despise him, sure, but he’s always entertaining. The other major villain of the film, Vector, is played by Academy Award winner Mahershala Ali, who brings a real gravitas to the character that the original work simply lacked. Manga Vector was a huckster, a conman, who was never a real threat to any of the characters, pretending to be more important and connected than he really was. Ali’s Vector is connected, and he is dangerous. He is still a liar and a coward, but he is far better at hiding it. Similarly, the character of Dr Ido is elevated by Christoph Waltz’s performance. Manga Ido is a stock mentor in many ways, the only substance to his character being the secret pleasure he takes in violence, a trait which is never truly elaborated upon. Waltz’s Ido is inherently more likeable and interesting, partly thanks to Waltz’s effortless likeability, partly thanks to the film’s most major backstory change: the addition of Ido’s deceased daughter. This addition to the backstory is the films most significant and effective change. For one, it adds more nuance and sympathy to Ido’s character. Manga Ido built Alita’s body out of scraps and named her after his dead cat. In the film, Alita’s body was originally created for Ido’s late daughter, and he is very clearly using her as a substitute for his child. When manga Ido forbade Alita from becoming a hunter, he seemed to be treating her like a pet or a doll, like she was his property. When Waltz’s Ido becomes overprotective, it is far more understandable. Of course, he would not want his new “daughter” in danger. The film successfully adds far more emotional weight to the relationship between Alita and Ido than was present in the original. The reason for his profession is also changed from sadistic pleasure to righteous vengeance, a change which softens his character further.
What sets Alita apart from other manga adaptations then, is the way that it has managed to make these changes to the characters and plot, while still remaining faithful to the tone and spirit of the source material. Instead of toning down the outlandish visuals, it plays them for all they are worth, embracing the exaggerated character designs and hyperactive fight choreography that people love about anime and manga. The film tells the manga’s story faithfully, perhaps too faithfully in some ways, but makes changes that don’t feel disrespectful of forced. Is Alita a perfect film? Not at all. At best, it is a fun sci-fi romp, an entertaining action spectacle. At worst, it is an uneven story with clunky dialogue. What Alita is, then, is the new gold standard for live-action anime adaptations, and that is the hill I will die on. by Sean Lyons Every winter, cinemas are flooded with “social injustice” films which highlight a certain area of inequality or oppression, either in the past or present day. These films are blatantly tailor-made to appeal to awards committees, often presenting the issues in a one-dimensional and preachy fashion. At a glance, Green Book appears to fit this bill. Its plot of an Italian-American man being hired to drive an African-American gay man through the south of the US in 1962 reeks of “awards bait.” As a result, I had no great expectations when going to see it. However, Green Book is more than just an “Oscar movie” as it contains a number of interesting observations on race. It is careful not only to depict the overt type of racism that is easily identifiable to us but also the subtler manifestations of racial bigotry. It begins by introducing us to Tony (Viggo Mortensen), a nightclub strong arm who conforms to the traditional stereotype of the Italian-American male; he enjoys baseball, food, family, music and most crucially, he is a racist. This is displayed early in the film when he disposes of the glasses that two black plumbers drank out of in his house. We soon learn, however, that Tony’s prejudices are only skin-deep. In spite of the racist implication of the aforementioned action, he has no qualms when offered a job as a chauffeur to Dr. Shirley (Mahershala Ali), a black classical pianist. This is our first indication that Tony’s values are not as strong as he would have us believe. Dr Shirley flips all of Tony’s preconceptions of black people: he is well-dressed, well-spoken and well-educated. This forces Tony to dramatically reassess his view of black people. If Dr Shirley doesn’t conform to his view of the typical black man, does it mean that this view is a lie? It becomes clear that Tony has no true ethical opposition to African-Americans. His “values” at the beginning of the film are merely informed by his environment and upbringing. Dr. Shirley reveals himself to be tremendously resentful of lower-class black people, as demonstrated by his interactions with them in the south. He views himself as a black man who has risen above the common rabble and escaped the conventions of his racial stereotype. As a result of his climb, he believes that black people who don’t make the effort to better themselves are perpetuating stereotypes and contributing to racism. What is worth noting, however, is that no matter how much Dr Shirley betters himself, he still falls victim to racism wherever he goes. It becomes evident that in trying to improve himself, he is really trying to “make himself white” in the eyes of white racists and this can obviously never be the case.
Green Book asks a question about whether a person prone to persecution can avoid said persecution. It also answers this question: they cannot. At one point, Tony claims that he is “blacker” than Dr Shirley because he eats fried chicken and enjoys the music of black artists like Little Richard and Aretha Franklin. He also claims that his conditions are worse than Dr Shirley’s because he was raised in poorer circumstances and is also subject to frequent racism. What Tony doesn’t understand and what Dr Shirley deftly points out to him is that white people are born with innate privilege. The pessimistic note of this observation is that no matter how much a black person may improve themselves to break the glass ceiling that society places above them, the colour of their skin means that they will always be subjected to racism. Green Book has plenty to say about how we view race and racism. Sadly, the “we” in question is white people. The film is centred around Tony and how he develops from being a committed racist to being a kind and compassionate person who eventually welcomes Dr Shirley into his home. Tony is the “white saviour” who shields Dr Shirley from racism throughout the film. Dr Shirley only develops as a character with Tony’s assistance. It is very much a film about racism through a white person’s eyes and applauds Tony for his transformation more than it shines a light on his former depravity. As a result, Dr Shirley is of secondary importance in the film. What could have been a film about an African American gay man navigating the perils of a divided 1960s America is instead a film about the white man who found it in himself to see him as a human being. It focuses on the need for love in order to unite people of different ethnicities and backgrounds. In doing this, it spends little time depicting racism through the eyes of a black person. Despite this, the film’s multi-faceted look at race provokes thought in the viewer and makes it a film worth seeing. By Colin Hoyne Interstellar is directed by Christopher Nolan and co-written by he and his brother, Jonathan Nolan. Christopher brings interstellar travel to life in this epic and inspiring tale of human survival in space. The story centres on Cooper (played by Matthew McConaughey), as a widowed farmer who, along with his father in law, looks after his two kids. Cooper and his children have a strong relationship, but his most emotional bond is with his daughter, Murph, played by the marvellous Mackenzie Foy. Supernatural, or scientific, occurrences start happening in his daughter’s bookcase, which lead Cooper on an interstellar space journey beyond the stars as they he searches for a new home due to the worsening situation on Earth. Having been Christopher Nolan’s biggest fan since his work on Inception and The Dark Knight Trilogy, I became intrigued when Interstellar was announced. Because my biggest inspiration was going to be directing, I couldn’t hold in my excitement. Having now seen the film, I realize that I was not ready for the emotions as the credits rolled on and the screen turned blank. I had just experienced an emotional rollercoaster that lit up not just my cinematic world, but my world entirely, as I now looked beyond the stars to search for something more. This movie is an instant classic and will be for many years, as I will sit my family down and I will watch this in awe, like the very first time I witnessed it. The acting is superb, as McConaughey brings to life a father and pioneering space pilot who has to let go of his children and may never return. This is not just a journey through space but an emotional journey of a father who loves his kids. Murph plays a kid bursting with scientific intrigue as she is haunted by a “ghost.” As the children grow older and Cooper travels through space, we see Jessica Chastain and Casey Affleck take over as the now aged children. Anne Hathaway plays Brand, an uptight but believable scientist who takes part in the bravest of journeys while Chris Nolan favourite Michael Caine plays Professor Brand. With a supporting cast of Wes Bentley, David Gyasi, and John Lithgow, the film is not an action or science fiction film, but a film about human survival and the heights that we strive for in terms of space travel. Nolan creates a world that we can believe as the cinematography showcases Earth as a dust-riddled piece of land, and space as a mysterious, diverse and frightening open fragment of our galaxy. How Interstellar didn’t win an Oscar for Best Cinematography amazes me, as I was stunned by the imagery I experienced in the cinema. Nolan showcases far away land being filled with water and an planet so cold its clouds have turned to ice. Hans Zimmer has also given us another memorable and inspirational soundtrack, whose Oscar snub puzzles me. Nolan and Zimmer are certainly a match made in heaven as they produce another haunting score which stays with you.
Personally, the film is my favourite of all time and will stay that way for a very long time, as I will never experience an emotional rollercoaster like that again. Nolan has given me so much already and that man deserves an Oscar soon for his cinematic worlds filled with life, twists, scientific meaning, and imagination that can transform any young teenager into a cinema lover and future filmmaker. Indeed, that is the significant affect that Christopher Nolan has had on me through the years. IN NOLAN WE TRUST. Grade: 9/10 By Thomas John Moore Obsession is one of the most effective tools employed by any screenwriter to form the basis of a good story. Damien Chazelle’s 2014 feature Whiplash explores the relationship between a young man and his drum kit, delving into his aspirations and the extent to which he will go in order to achieve them. This deep exploration of the psyche takes the viewer on a journey of emotion as Andrew Nieman, brought to life brilliantly by Miles Teller, struggles to assume a position as one of the best jazz drummers in the world. The brilliance of this movie is difficult to explain; one really has to see it in order to understand. To simply describe the premise of the film’s plot, a young drummer striving to be better, is to do Whiplash a massive disservice. The music and aesthetics alone makes it worth the watch. Jazz music as an art form is a perfect conduit for emotion, and through the soundtrack of the film we experience all of the highs and lows of Teller’s troubled character. The cinematography ingeniously sets the atmosphere of the film, immersing us in Nieman’s world and the tribulations of the students in Shaffer music school. The feat that Whiplash achieves of keeping the audience’s attention despite little change in plot for a large part of the film is testament to the director’s ability. The quality of acting displayed by Teller, as well as by J.K. Simmons as Nieman’s terrifying, sadistic teacher is among the best I’ve seen. The unpredictable, abrasive nature of Simmons’ character is expertly portrayed, leaving the viewer both appalled and impressed in equal measure. That is not to undermine Teller’s performance, however, as the presentation of the depths of Nieman’s obsession and emotional conflict is sublime. Nieman’s conflict is evident and there is not a single scene in Whiplash in which the viewer will question the authenticity of the character. Ultimately, the focus of the film is on the inescapable and destructive nature of obsession, as we see both Nieman and Simmons’ characters constantly finding themselves getting dragged back towards the orchestra. At the end of the day, not much has changed, and yet the viewer can’t help feeling satisfied. That is the brilliance of Whiplash. |
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