Article: Belonging on Beale Street

  

Forgive me for the weasel words at the start of this. I cannot remember for the life of me the many people who state that when writing about cultural commentary on media that it shouldn’t be personal. Apologises on this opening which is something that attribute to me and what I’ve seen. 

On one of the photography forums that I frequent, a woman made a post asking about what could be done to celebrate and encourage more female photographers on the site. Photography like so many creative endeavours can be considered top-heavy when it comes to gender, although of course there are many variables that should be considered. Almost straight away the inquisition came. Prods and pokes at a relatively harmless question. Nothing said held out and out aggression, but many replies held a clear defensiveness. The response that struck me more than anything was by one gentleman who stated:

 

“Call me biased as a middle-aged white male, who has not transgendered, and has all his limbs and hopefully faculties, but I really don’t even think about these things until people decide that the world is” unfair” in their eyes. Can we maybe just look at the quality of images.......?”

 

Isn’t this the sticking point? The crux of the argument? The problem? That the person of such a description can brush off the idea of celebrating a different group’s foray into creativity because they do not have to think about it? That because they are usually considered the target market, they can dictate the themes and hold the gates on what is worthy? Suffice to say, I ducked out of my forum lurking at that point. You can always see where such debates go. It was much better for me to go to the movies, another medium which suffers from similar trappings. Just go to any forum debating Captain Marvel…

Often the critique thrown at certain black films often sounds similar to the “I don’t see colour" argument. Not everyone will get something out of Films such as Get Out (2017) and Moonlight (2017), but the dismissive nature which sometimes comes from people when they observe such films, consciously or not, highlight their dismissiveness of racial identity. There have been films like Black Panther (2018) before and watching the many MCU entries help establish that point. But there’s rarely any colour represented films like Black Panther and this is where the discourse becomes fractured. In the same way, black audiences helped the likes of a problematic racial sitcom such as Love Thy Neighbour become popular, the latest glut of black-led movies have staunch support for the simple reason that in not seeing the racial aspect in such features is to erase swathes of people's viewpoints alongside it too. In the same way, a female photographer may have a different stance on how to create images thematically but can be ignored under a certain presence of “quality”. A white audience member can view movie concerns from particular viewpoints, safe in the knowledge that their next film is merely around the corner. For minority viewers, they have not been able to. Due to this, as a black audience member, I may now feel that I can be quick to dismiss viewpoints if I consider the commentator would be softer on a “white” movie for having the same faults. 

Berry Jenkins’ tales of unrequited love can and have been criticised by people and of course we can all do this, however, I would be interested in how many people who dismiss Moonlight would be doing so in contrast to its particular blend of unapologetically black queer cinema. As if there’s that many. The same would go for Medicine for Melancholy (2008) a black romance which riffs on the mumblecore movement, a group of films not particularly known for its diverse demographic. 

Jenkins’ If Beale Street Can Talk is very much more of the same when we consider his body of work. A matter of fact drama based on a novel by James Baldwin. With the inspiration of Wong Kar-Wai clearly in mind, the film ebbs and flows in a fashion which may be unfamiliar to those who expect a more typical sense of narrative structure. Characters we expect to reappear, do not, yet their actions and thoughts linger long after they leave the screen. Much like Jenkins’ previous works, this is not unexpected. For a viewer like myself, whose enjoyment of more typical modern features is at a slight point of contempt, Beale Street’s way is warmly met by me.

Bathed in the beautiful, warming glow of James Laxton’s cinematography, Jenkins captures the thoughts and emotions of his character's feelings in tightly framed, richly light close-ups. Shots so detailed they point out the needless endeavour of 3D or Secret Cinema to provide immersion. When Nicholas Britell's score soared, my tear ducts often swelled, as is Jenkins ability to deliver us in front of these simple characters leading complicated lives. The film explores the problematic themes of redlining, rape, and racism in America, yet it never preaches. It’s emotional moments never feel like they are pandering. The film’s expressions of love never feel cloying or plastic. 

The beauty in Jenkins work, for an admirer like myself, lies in his ability to show us lives that are being lived with no need for huge telegraphed scenes of sensation, yet plenty of moments to provide reflection. When we observe the intimate moments of our lead characters making love for the first time, it should be noted of how black male sexuality is captured as not only an expression of love but as a moment of vulnerability. The black male without aggression, something that could possibly be missed by viewers as it is an element which still feels alien to them. 

If Beale Street Could Talk, did not hold the same immediate emotional response as Moonlight did. The latter film lodged a lump in my throat so large, I felt it may never have left. However, Beale Street firmly establishes Jenkins as the most important black filmmaker for a viewer such as me. Being a sensitive soul, it is unsurprising that I hold a soft spot for many emotional and expressive features, but it is with Jenkins for the third time running, that I have watched a film of an artist and felt my chest would burst. The third time that a filmmaker has opened a part of myself and explored particular emotions that I myself have grappled with. It’s not to say that other filmmakers have not done this. They do. Just not like this. 

The point of this ramble, which has taken me too long to write and you perhaps too long to read, is that Jenkins’ framing of people of colour in Beale Street, like his other features, or even Charles Burnett's, highlight and frame western black cinema in a way that many other white filmmakers would quite simply be uninterested in. The quality is there. What he’s doing with it is celebrating us.

Article: The Perception of Class

 Did you hear what that film critic said about the other? Well, it all started with a cryptic tweet from one Mark Kermode stating:

"That moment when you fall out of love with a film mag about which you once cared passionately. Oh well …"

In the latest issue of Sight and Sound (Oct 2018), Danny Leigh’s article on film criticism and class seemingly alluded to the idea that fellow film writer Kermode's private school education holds a certain aspect of gatekeeping:

The whole thing felt a little odd to me. A misguided pot-shot to some, a benign reference to others. In all honesty, I joked with a film friend that both were joyfully sharing a brandy and a cigar as they did enough to raise Film Twitter's love for gossip and perhaps got another couple of Sight and Sound copies out the door. Although Kermode feelings to the comments and Leigh's self-removal from Twitter state otherwise. 

Strangely, this reminds me of when Gawker broke the news of Hulk Hogan’s sex tape and rampant racism in which the Hulkster mentioned not only his wishes of his daughter to not date certain types of Black men, but also liberal use of the N-word. I remember when this news broke, the social media audience was more bothered at Hogan's use of a racial slur as opposed to his far more disturbing view on interracial relationships. I'm also reminded of the 2014 Sony hack in which then Sony Entertainment Chief Amy Pascal joking remarked on Obama's film tastes being somewhat stereotypical. While the information leaked was founded on dubious grounds, it displayed the problematic relationship between ideas of race and film production. This was not conversed about in The Discourse, because this was criminal gossip which shouldn't be looked into in any way or form. Although now we don't mind discussing pee tapes. 

The mucky discussions that should really be discussed are dismissed for something more palatable. The same thing will happen here. The more important aspects of Leigh's commentary will be overshadowed via a smaller, less important area of discussion. There are no winners here. The comments made will now be viewed by some as a grudge on a film writer who is currently the most prominent national voice on cinema. While another film writer will disappear from social media at a time we actually need folk to discuss cinema in a boarder sense. Something Leigh was happy to do. A shame. In the brief conversations I've had in the past with both writers, the most important element that came across from both of them was their passion for cinema. 

A couple of sentences between two prominent white film writers is simply not as important as the talk of class. We’re still in a labouring world in which London based critics and film writers chirp over "essential" screenings that they can see due being able to afford an array of rep cinemas that they can just fall into. Working class actors are disappearing. Films which highlight the varied range of cultural landscapes flitter on by due to poor distribution and yet we see have more to say about twitter beef. This ain’t Sarris vs Kael. This isn’t even White vs Baumbach and yet we are invested. The issue that lingers is that there IS a class concern that remains in film criticism like a repugnant stench. However, the concern is being masked by folk grinning and nodding in acknowledgment to MUBI’s smug advertising campaign or doubling down on their recent tweets about the state of Cinema culture, so much of which safely ignore any real insights on socio-political areas. The online film community can often give off an ivory tower demeanour about itself. All it takes is a glance at the right message boards or tweet threads to see it. There is a problem with how class, as well as race and gender,  is viewed in criticism. It goes far beyond the two writers mentioned in this piece. The fact that we will again ignore it is pretty classless.

Review: The Hateful Eight

Year: 2015 (2016 UK Theatrical Release)
Director: Quentin Tarnatino
Screenplay: Quentin Tarnatino
Starring: Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Walton Goggins, Demián Bichir, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Bruce Dern

Synopsis is here

By the end of The Hateful Eight, I found myself at a loss. As a huge admirer of the filmmakers' work, I found the eighth film from the idiosyncratic director to be slightly uninspiring. Not a bad film by any means. The dialogue holds that sing song prose we often expect. The humour has more than a touch of the gallows to it. The references, as always, have the type of richness we’d come to expect from the energetic, egotistical pastiche picture maker.

As a fan, it’s hard not to hold a fondness for the films brutal, bloody and bold filmmaking. Clocking in at 167 minutes (general release version), it’s still great to see Tarnatino as the diehard hip-hop auteur that he has always been. The novelistic narrative, the political incorrectness, the characters who hold a sense of depth despite their cartoonish nature. At times it feels like a medley of greatest hits.

Despite this, The Hateful Eight seems diluted. A reminder that many enjoyed the filmmaker when his were more streamlined. It’s easy to see elements of Reservoir Dogs (1992) crop up throughout The Hateful Eight. What I realised is just how much the limitations pushed the filmmaker in his early days. Characters are nailed down quickly while payoffs are executed sharply. The Hateful Eight, much like Tarantino’s Death Proof (2007), seems to put out a lot of posturing, but while impressing from a technical standpoint, never seem to deliver that pleasurable gut punch we know that the director can easily provide.

Something that has dropped into the pit of peoples stomach, however, is Quentin's love for the word nigger, which like Django Unchained (2012), is used to convey the post-civil war era setting as well as the racial tension, which are stirred within the film itself. Of course, liberal commenters were quick to react towards Tarnatino consistent use of the word and with good cause. To a point. Tarnatino’s racial politics can often feel troublesome and problematic. The film could probably easily tone down its uses of such a slur. Yet in watching a film called The Hateful Eight, made by a man whose viewing pleasures are often occupied by the sleaze of exploitation and Grindhouse, while I don’t condone it. I can at gain a sense of understanding. In comparison, Rick Famuyiwa’s Dope (2015) is equally infatuated with the word, yet has little else to back up its overuse. Interestingly, both films, gender politics also come into play. The Hateful Eight features deplorable violence towards women sometimes cartoonish, often troubling. Yet still works towards making its lone lead female (a fantastic Jennifer Jason Leigh) a compelling feature of the movie. Unlike Dope’s various sketchily drawn females, Leigh’s Daisy Domergue is an actual character with motivations worthy of watching. One may not agree with what she does, at least she is not window dressing.

Despite this there are some understandably awkward stereotypes which raise their head during a pivotal point of the movie. Combined with a strange, beguiling, sexually aggressive monologue by Samuel L Jackson. These sequences distressing to some due to their displacement of black women and the connotations of black sexuality respectively. While Tarantino tries to remain canny by once again making his black and female characters the smartest players in the room, he’s doing so in a film that could really do with some decent chopping. Critics have been trying to unpack the deeper themes of the film as best they can. I don’t care too much about that. Mostly because the film isn’t as strong from a fundamental standpoint. The elements are there, but everything feels far too surface level. Yes, even for a Tarantino movie.

Despite a gruff Kurt Russell, the film never reaches the fever pitch of tension found in The Thing (1982). The film's visuals are attractive, but never deliver the same creeping feeling of dread that occurs in previous Tarnatino features (Inglourious Basterds for instance). The film’s performances are all enjoyable, but the outcome of everyone is not. It’s a strange feeling to have in a Tarantino film but, one I felt all the same.

Is this a misfire? Not really. A few of the reasons on why I watch Tarnatino raise their head. No doubt, I’ll see movies this year with a dazzling amount of inaptitude. Something The Hateful Eight certainly doesn’t have. The Hateful Eight, however, seems to suggest that Quentin Tarantino may do well to step out of his own head for a while and take a breather. If what he says is true, then he only has two films left. He should go out with a bang.

Review: Ted 2

Year: 2015

Director: Seth MacFarlane

Screenplay: Seth MacFarlane, Alec Sulkin, Wellesley Wild

Starring:  Mark Wahlberg, Seth MacFarlane, Amanda Seyfried, Giovanni Ribisi, John Slattery, Jessica Barth, Morgan Freeman

Synopsis is here

This potent independent article helped gather some thoughts on Ted 2, the intermittently funny, yet still unnecessary sequel to Seth MacFarlane 2012 hit. Seth wants to have his cake and eat it. Ted plays fast and loose with jokes about black cocks and white niggas and yet the film gives pays little lip service to black people. Yet ted 2 is a film which is about civil rights…to a point. Really Seth wants to be able to make crummy race jokes while still giving the wink that he's a card carrying liberal. Ted the CGI bear wishes to be considered a human and have his surname called Clubberlang. Here, however, you could say he comes off more as an Archie Bungle.

These days any flaw or dislike in a un-P.C piece of media, instantly considers the viewer as over sensitive. You can't have class if you don't like crass. But despite a favourable view of the previous entry and an admirer of MacFarlane’s animated work, my disinterest in Ted 2 is more down to the fact that that Ted 2’s humour feels thinly spread this time round. Gags feel well-worn and lacking in any type of growth. Much like The Hangover franchise. Ted 2 never feels like the shot in the arm that the first entry gave. It feels like a stale re-tread.

It's no surprise that American Dad has grown from strength to strength out of all Seth’s creations. As it favours less of the oblique randomness that litters Family Guy and Ted. In both Ted 2 and his previous film A Million Ways to Die in the West (2014), Seth has pushed even further towards random non sequiturs with none of the Monty Python flair.

But even Family Guy gains more favour due to its ability to lean on its animation. It shouldn’t be said, but the series can have more fun because it’s a cartoon. It’s become more apparent that MacFarlane has a style that he wishes to stick with. This was fine when Ted was viewed as a one shot. A random series of connected vignettes tied by character and crassness. However, this second time round delivers Ted has less of a rouge and more of an asshole. The jokes that miss are, once again, even more targeted to those with a working knowledge of current American pop culture that’s off the beaten track. This mostly leaves Ted making dick jokes, but lacking with the fairy tale element which caused much of the amusement from before. In addition to this, Wahlberg has less to do. Seyfried is coasting in a drab role and while MacFarlane still doesn’t get enough praise for his vocal ability, Ted is far less lovable this time round. Once the first film became a hit, you can see what little earnestness there was, leave Ted and anything connected to it due to money.

It’s a damn shame that Ted opens with hilariously silly MGM musical-lite titles. It reminds you of how much of a song and dance man MacFarlane can be alone with his love for older Hollywood. There’s clearly some comedic gems to mine there. Yet once the film gets to comic con and makes Star Wars gags (another MacFarlane trait), it’s clear that geeky callback culture currently rules all, and MacFarlane only goes balls out with the easy dick, race and gender jokes, but isn’t interested in skewing things any further. Ted 2 finishes up like the results of what you’d get from an easy bake oven. You’re able to digest it, but you’ll probably need something to wash it down with before forgetting you even had it. A sticky mess. 

External Review: Selma

"Many complain about the awards season being a circle jerk, and yet every year we proclaim more outrage of the next perceived snub? Selma does what it needs to without the need for the trinkets and accompanying blurb. It’s smart filmmaking, which entertains, educates and illuminates. Try as hard as it might, the shine of a glittering statue should not blind us from this. In ten years’ time, I will be more likely to remember Selma and DuVernay’s filmmaking, then whoever wins an Academy Award. But if we really need the gleam of Oscar for some sort of material honour. We will wait to see who Selma inspires. Then, as quoted by King in the movie “We go again”."

My review for defiant Martin Luther King biopic; Selma is now up on Kush Films:

Review: 12 Years a Slave

Year: 2013 (U.K. Release 2014)

Director: Steve McQueen

Screenplay: John Ridley

Starring: Chiwetel Ejiofor, Michael Fassbender, Brad Pitt, Lupita Nyong'o, Benedict Cumberbatch, Sarah Paulson, Paul Dano

Note: This review is much longer than usual writings and contains plot elements that can be considered spoilers.

Synopsis is here:

I watched 12 Years a Slave in the plush Tate Modern Cinema on the day Mark Duggan was judged lawfully killed. I was a little late but was able to get a seat at the front before the auditorium got too packed. I looked back to what was a majority of white faces. The girl behind me was nattering about Buzzfeed and Kubler Ross’ five stages. 

A black group then sat next to me and a conversation began about film critic and intellectual blowhard Armond White, who recently covered himself in glory by allegedly heckling 12 Years a Slave director Steve McQueen at the New York film critic awards. Already I could see where various people’s heads were at before the movie started.

The black group’s most vocal woman was incredibly fierce in her condemnation of White, despite sounding like she's only recently heard of the notorious NYC critic, who has sounded off more than once at McQueens film. For me the most notable attack was on the Slash film podcast. Amusingly White (who is Black) was critical of McQueens ability to make a film about one of America’s ugliest eras of history as he was Black British. The irony here is by saying such things, White hints at his own issues and prejudice. With Hollywood allowed to revel in its own alteration of historical events, White's attack reeked of his often felt contrarianism that the young woman I eavesdropped on, spoke of.

There were aspects of White opinion that I half agreed with. 12 Years maybe based on a true story, but like White, I too consider it a fiction of sorts and the film doesn't touch upon the lingering grip of slavery and white imperialism in the same way of the films that White mentioned (Beloved being the main text).  

Yet why should McQueen’s film live in the shadow of what’s come before it?  Unlike White I believe 12 Years a Slave to be a demanding and important motion picture on its own terms. Whether it's liked or not (in terms of superficial “enjoyment”), one should not be dismissive of it, lest you act like the patrons of the plantation who play ignorant of the torturous suffering we see on display. I may consider the picture a fiction of sorts (which films aren't) but it's a damn good one. 

The story of Solomon Northup's story in which he; a free and educated black man, is drugged and sold as a slave, is an astonishing one. We see him examined and looked upon like a dog, beaten down, whipped and mentally broken down in a cult like manner. When ignorant racists have asked "why don't they just fight back/run" (I always find it strange how many racists perceive blacks are meant to subservient and hyper aggressive in a bizarre oxymoronic manner) McQueen answers them with a stern fierceness. Like any cult arrangement, you break down who a person is to gain control.

Black civility isn’t a dirty word, but a non-existent one. Here even blacks that are "favourited" are beaten to an inch of their life. One moment as Northup fight back against a repugnant and thick carpenter played by Paul Dano (unfortunately the weakest performance of the cast) to which he is hung up by his neck to a tree with only his toes balancing him on the soft, slippery mud to keep him from choking. An overseer makes sure he doesn't die, knowing the reasons behind the fight back may be true. Yet Northup is still left to hang despite his innocence, while those around toil and play. The same fingers and toes mean nothing; even speaking the same language brings no joy. Emotion and empathy from slaves is looked at as alien. 

The most affecting aspect of the film is the passivity of such behaviour. Slaves are considered property by religious scripture. Name and identity is beaten away.  No one batters an eye at the beatings. We see one man gives a compliant stare towards the camera before being hung. In this world, there’s little wrong with hurtling a glass bottle at a black woman but if a note is passed from black to white, hands are wiped on dresses. It's almost as if McQueen takes us to the start of the now more insidious modern ignorance. It's hard not to feel anger as hot as the blistering Georgia sun, As Northup struggles to find ways of surviving such injustice. When he is first captured he screams out from his prison bars. His plea is heard as the camera pans up and shoots against a brick wall for almost an age, before rising to the skyline and the free world. If the shot is a metaphor, it is a just one. 

Sean Bobbit’s camerawork is sublime, with shots not only capturing the fragile mood of the piece (the night work is excellent) but also using the light (and make up) to show the slow deterioration of Northup, with long close ups of Chiwetel Ejiofor’s visage, painting a vivid and haunting picture.

If the ridiculous Italian Marketing campaign told us anything, it reminds us just how distracting the films white A list actors can be. While their performances can’t be faulted in terms of pitch (both Cumberbatch and Fassbender are stunning as two sides of a sinister coin) it’s tough not to notice who these people are. When Brad Pitt arrives, his position in as producer influences his role in the film. This is something I feel important to remember, considering the geography of the actors.

That said, this is Chiwetel Ejiofor's film almost entirely. Those who follow film have known of his pedigree for years, but here he is allowed to carry a film with conviction and quiet nobility. We are so clear of his civility in his demeanour, that even at his lowest ebb, we feel his decency and most importantly his very being still resides. Ejiofor’s Northup makes judgements we may not agree with, but these actions only remind us of his selfhood. This balance of human frailty yet unyielding spirit is played though Ejiofor’s expressive face. We see the torment; we’re astounded by the emotional reserves.      

12 Year’s a Slave works best when we see Northup placed against the distress of other slaves. To see him put to the test against those whose resolve is dangling by a thread and have been considered as “property” for too long. To be told not to inform people that you’re learned (or face death), to witness women who are considered animals yet must be receptive of their masters carnal desires (Nyoong'o performance is heartwrenching). How do you hold maintain your insanity when those around you are so dehumanised?

This could possibly be more effective in turning a generation of people on the more difficult conversations of race than other narratives, mostly due to the stories entry point. Northup’ elegance and stature from the start (as opposed to Django Unchained’s straight up slave to badass narrative) help connect to where we are now to the culture. The atrocities faced often become a metaphor to sins of our recent history and present. The idea of Northup being drugged and placed into slavery has similarities from the sex trafficking stories we are told of. The examinations we witness remind us how easy it was to conduct the likes of the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment. Both those examples dehumanising its subjects to the state of mere vessels. The aggressive evil that inhabits Fassbender’s Epps may only really be seen by people on the fringe, but the “pleasant” demeanour of Cumberbatch’s Ford lingers in the same way we observe those who completely ignore that white privilege doesn’t and has never existed. To Ford; Northup is an “exceptional” nigger, but he is still a nigger. Observe how the killings of Trayvon Martin and the aforementioned Duggan have divided opinion due the perception of the victim over the shooter. Consider the stats that state that blacks are up to 28 more times more likely to get stopped. Speak to the “right” people and you’ll still witness that people believe there’s a negative aspect to a black person because it’s simply “in them”. I’ve said so much about the film already, so I’ll stay quiet over the cotton picking scene involving Northup and Armsby an alcoholic ex-overseer.  Such scenes help illustrate how the seeds were sown.    

12 Years a Slave maybe McQueen’s most accessible film, but it’s still no easier to watch. His facial close ups still hurt; the violence causes revolution and anger.  Film has a wonderful sense of pace, rhythm and space. He also manages to make the hurt of over 200 years feel fresh. It’ll be interesting to view this again when the awards buzz leaves us. The awards season (as always) distorts readings of film and I fear the films narrative and angle will serve it well for glittery things but do little to rouse Hollywood towards the underlying issues they refuse to face. Will we observe more black stories? Will they all have to head down the same path of slavery and racial tension? Will Ejiofor’s superlative performance open doors for him and others? When we look at an even wider perspective, will 12 Years a Slave finally do what the likes of (award winners) The Blind Side (2009) and The Help (2011) didn’t and open up boarder dialogues of race? I don’t see many silent movies after The Artist (2011 Oscar winner). These questions are for the Oracle to answer.  

Armond White considered this a whitewash of the themes at hand and I strongly disagree. As the credits rolled, the predominately Caucasian crowd was quick to get to their mobiles and sighed with relief. It was back to the real world. More buzzfeed and normality. The same woman who was angry at the start was angrier now. Seething at how quick some had sat up, began natter and distance themselves from what had happened on the screen. I stayed to the end and turned round to see who else did when the lights came up. Everyone who did was black, with many younger than me. It seems we took it all in. I feel like to that woman 12 Years a Slave was more than a simple water cooler moment. This moment helped demonstrate how important this movie could become to a future. Maybe she saw the same things I saw. Perhaps the dialogue has started.

Article: Doing The Right Thing

I’m starting to hate open letters. I actually think there should be an open letter to everyone about open letters clearly stating that we don’t need any more open letters. Much like constant barrage of baby/engagement/wedding photos that litter my Facebook feed, it seems that now, an open letter must be posted on the internet to try and put a stop to a particular beef or irritation. I often have no problem with the intent of most of them. In fact; I’d probably back the topic that the writer is speaking out for. My issue is that the more you see these things, like an internet petition, they slowly become more trivial. Open letters have almost become memes. You can sense the groans as yet another ask for the school board/Tory MP/Miley Cyrus is retweeted through the internet’s many tubes to your eyeballs asking for the madness to stop.

This said I found myself alerted to an open letter that made its way on my twitter feed earlier this week. The letter is from Juan Luis Garcia, a freelance designer who writes (to influential Afro American filmmaker Spike Lee) that his initial poster work for the film remake Old Boy may have been stolen by an ad agency working on the project. Legal action has reared its head and it appears that Garcia has reached out to Spike as a fellow artist to see if he can intervene in any way. The letter talks about the money that the agency has allegedly not paid Garcia, but it seems quite clear that Garcia is asking Lee to use his influence as the director of the film to see if this can be settled in a civil and respectful way.

Lee (who  appears to be Brazil working on his latest project) had this to say:

I Never Heard Of This Guy Juan Luis Garcia,If He Has A Beef It's Not With Me.I Did Not Hire Him,Do Not Know Him.Cheap Trick Writing To Me.YO
— Spike Lee (@SpikeLee) November 28, 2013

It’s interesting to see that Spike has written the tweet in-between two celebratory communications for Thanksgiving. It’s almost as if he wished to call himself out on the irony. Then again Spike as a filmmaker and a personality, has never been one for tact.

Lee has never shied away from the controversial, yet his boldness both in-front and behind the camera has been important to so many film goers. It’s difficult to find black filmmakers or critics who have not been influenced by him. I remember gaining the only words of praise from a fellow student for a talk about him during my time at university and he became an inspiration since. Further insight in his work clearly shows just how many future stars benefited from working with him in the early days. Names like Wesley Snipes, Halle Berry, Samuel L Jackson and Laurence Fishburne may never have been known if not for Lee, who cast them in his early features. If Hollywood didn’t take a chance on you, then you got the feeling that Spike would. This includes the crew, who may not have been able to get a foot in the door in “white” Hollywood. 

For a director whose politics and confrontational style have often made him tough to embrace, one would have thought that Spike would have been less abrasive to something like this. The incident feels much like the problems that aroused with Lee when making Malcolm X. When the studios and bond company didn’t give him the money he asked for to complete the film, Spike had to inject his own cash and was able to get financial help from prominent members of the Afro-American community.

We should also consider Spike’s position before Old Boy, where work on the likes of Inside Man 2 were halted and Spike himself stated that he couldn’t get projects off the ground. Now with a film hitting theatres with talk of it being one of the least “Spike” movies in a long time and a Kickstarter project which brought many mixed feelings to proceedings, the fact that Spike’s own fierce independence has again been placed under the microscope makes the situation even more uncomfortable. This designer isn’t asking Spike himself for a handout, he’s chiefly asking for empathy.

I know young graphic designers and I’m currently in a position in which I work with one. It’s not pretty. In an age in which the audience will cheerfully download your film for nothing, studios are only chiefly interested in the next comic book cash cow and the idea of working for nothing/scraps in the media is becoming way too much of the norm, freelancers are doing what they can to stay afloat. Artistic and creative careers are still being seen as flights of fancy or “phases” despite the fact that our way of life has us engaging with them even more. If Garcia is merely a chancer, leaping on to a coat tails of a hotly debated film, then shame on him. However the question I would ask is why Old Boy? The film doesn’t look to be the runaway hit some are hoping it to be. It’s a violent and bloody remake of a superb yet cult Korean film. It’s hardly a film with deep pockets.

For me, the saddest thing comes from a brief exchange from a friend (and freelance writer) who reminded me of the one other thing that none of us really wanted to bring up: race.

If there’s one thing that ignorance thrives on, it’s moments like this; a chance to sink their teeth into a perceived flaw and show the world that we’re nowhere near evolving yet. The problem is Spike seems to be more than happy to throw a bone to his enemies. Spike once again viewed the moment as a confrontation as opposed to seeing this as a chance to help a fellow creative (or even consider this to be a great PR opportunity for Old Boy) Spike’s bluntness as done little to help anyone, even himself. Yet this is the same guy who sought an injunction for Spike T.V as it sounded too much like his moniker. This is the same Spike Lee who wrongly tweeted the address of an elderly couple, thinking it was the home of George “Trigger Happy” Zimmerman. It’s almost like he enjoys casting the first stone within his just patched up glass house. It seems clear to me that Spike can easily let these things roll of his back, yet it becomes a minefield for those who love his work. Spike is still the best known American black director and at a time were black characters in film are getting shat on by ignorance, it would be nice to have Spike tone down his “sharper” elements and remind us of the statesman he often can be. After the Django debacle (another Spike moment), the one thing I would love to see is sodality, because we damn well need it.  

This of course is in an ideal world; where freelancers don’t get screwed for their work, and if they do, the at least they can reach out to a director who will hear them out first as opposed to a 140 character cold shoulder. We can only dream. Unfortunately in reality I find myself yelling at yet another open letter and liking Spike Lee to how Chris Rock feels about Hip Hop. I love him but I’m tired of defending him.

Review: Lincoln

Year: 2012 (UK Release 2013)

Director: Steven Spielberg

Screenplay: Tony Kushner

Starring: Daniel Day Lewis, Tommy Lee Jones, Sally Field, Joseph Gordon Levitt, James Spader, Tim Blake Nelson and John Hawkes

Synopsis is here

With its 12 nominations hanging gracefully around its neck, I feel an unusual sense of entitlement to Lincoln, even if it's it's just my scatterbrained thoughts thinking it.  If Django Unchained; with its blaxploitation leanings and myth making fantasy  is the graphic novel of slavery, then Lincoln is the essay. Tarrantino may proclaim his filmmaking as non-political, but it's clear that he no fool. The sight of hip-hop's most enigmatic rebel, 2Pac (posthumously teaming up with James Brown no less) on the films soundtrack, and the near casting of one Will Smith may say different to a certain few. Lincoln on the other hand is not only about the 16th president of the United States but focuses on one of his biggest political achievements: The passing of the 13th amendment, and the abolishment of slavery.

Lee was quickly question about his view on the sandbox orgy of violence and revenge and yet no one appear to be as forthcoming to Lee's views on Spielberg's Lincoln. I feel it's safe to say that due to the two film-makers past, the desire for a heated reaction seems to be the purpose as opposed to any real conversation about the material at hand. Yet Spielberg has managed to place forth a film full of political posturing which asks for a certain amount of reverence about its subject and subtext with apparently little issue.

Django may not be a biting political critique on black slavery, but it's certainly more interested in race in the frame. Lincoln for all its congressional hearings and the like, spends what could be seen as a minimal time with black faces. Yes, the film is called Lincoln, and a powerful performance from Daniel Day-Lewis reminds us not only of the actor’s skill and talent, but the human touch that made the president the icon he became. Despite this we only gain three noteworthy moments of interaction with Afro-Americans. The first two are amongst the strongest scenes in the film, while the last (a climatic reveal) is awkward at best. The opening scene in which a young black solider ponders upon the future to Lincoln is a simple yet effective moment which boils down the very reason why the amendment should be passed. A later scene in which Lincoln and his now free house maid reflect on what lies ahead, also re-enforces such importance. These scenes; broad as they are hold the type of emotional weight that Spielberg is known for, making it a pity that through the more restrained eye of Lincoln such moments are few and far between.

That said, Spielberg does republican politics a better favour than Fox news, with many scenes deftly passing forth the massage that while democracy can be a dirty and difficult game, progression is not a dirty word. Lincoln is quick to alert that the tensions of old are not a thing of the past and the aggressive political standings seen right now, will only leave the country in more turmoil. Day-Lewis' performance drives home the human element that seems to be lacking with the politicians we see today. Others have been sniffy with Lincoln's grandfather-like meandering tales, yet without them the film would lose the humility we need to connect with him as a character. It also cuts through some of the pomp and bluster of some of the films dryer moments.

Daniel Day Lewis' performance is a striking one, yet it does little to elevate the weightless family side plot that runs alongside the politics. Supposed emotional scenes with Joseph Gordon Levitt and Sally Field are weak and do little to bring everything to the head. It's odd to see a Spielberg movie have such an awkward footing when it focuses on family aspects, yet this is a more restrained Spielberg feature which dances around some of his more typical sentiments with a certain shyness. Unlike many; I tend to warm to those moments usually due to the earnestness that they are approached with. In Lincoln however, it's just the facts with less of the blacks and of course the people have been quick to remark on the accuracy. 

Still; Spielberg (with Day Lewis in tow) manages to bring a board sense of decency and gravitas to many moments of the film.Also; while the film lacks a certain grace in it's closing segments (Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter deals with the inevitable outcome with a little more subtly),  Spielberg still remains a man to go to for visual wit. The sight of James Spader, Tim Blake Nelson and John Hawkes blundering around the place like 18th century stooges is a winning one. As is Tommy Lee Jones who is bullish form. Such scenes do not outstay their welcome. 

Said moments however are diamonds in the rough of a film, that weaves in and out of important and impotence. Turgid family sequences clash with intriguing political discourse. Stand out displays, slap against struggling performances. Racial politics are the mainstay of the movie, yet the people don't seem to matter as much as the reasoning. Lincoln will serve history teachers well in the long run with its calm and sensible depiction. Django on the other hand, gives us a outlandish superhero amidst the cinematic landscape of comic book adaptations. The restraint and awards may do a lot of favours for Lincoln, yet when it comes to race in the frame Django's hip hop stylings may build a stronger connection over similar material.

Review: Django Unchained

Year: 2013

Director: Quentin Tarantino

Screenplay: Quentin Tarantino

Starring: Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio, Samuel L Jackson 

Synopsis is here

Thank goodness Django made all its money in the U.S already. As the cold snap bites down on the U.K, it’s clear that it’s opening box office will be affected. I however, braved the bitter winter to reach my local cinema and get better acquainted with a tall dark stranger named Django.  Snow was never going to stop me from participating in the opening weekend of Quentin Tarantino’s latest entry to his eccentric canon. The controversy behind it only sweetens the deal.

Tarantino’s spaghetti “southern”; set during America’s slave era, already had Spike Lee’s back up before the film was even released. Lee stated in a Vibe interview that the film was disrespectful to his ancestors.Lee’s remarks are reminiscent of his earlier words on Tarantino's use on the word  nigger. The film's screenplay (leaked over two years ago) not only features the word over 100 times, it also features graphic violence and racism towards African Americans due to the era it is set in. It’s easy to see why a director such as Lee would be against the film.

 Meanwhile, Tarantinofound himself; once again, being asked the questions of violence in the mediathat have plagued him since his 1992 debut Reservoir Dogs. In a Channel 4 news interview, a tetchy Tarantino clashes Krishnan Guru-Murthy over the questions being asked. The interview is a bizarre one, in which Tarantino, not only tells Guru-Murthy that he’s “shutting his butt down” but also claims that the point of the interview (for a news show) is only to sell his movie and to gain ratings for the program.

What’s interesting is that while Lee’s comments became an easy digestible sound bite (as did his twitter comments afterwards) Quentin’s shutdown of answers, along with his countless amount of times he’s had to answer this seemed to have given him a certain amount of wiggle room. The aforementioned snow will do more to put people off. All the while Lee is getting vilified by many well known black commenters.

The controversy surrounding the Django Unchained is just as murky as the film itself. Neither Lee or Tarantino right or wrong for what they've said, and Django equally places itself inside a strange and unique position. Opening up a dialogue on racism, which will possibly connect itself better to a younger generation than the likes of Spielberg’s Lincoln, but blurring its irrelevance with its combination of history, cartoonish violence and our own audience viewpoints. This is a mainstream film with a black hero and romance at its heart, but it needed Tarantino’s clout to do this. The use of the word nigger must be used to give allow the historic context to ring true. Yet, even despite being a massive fan of rap music, I questioned if the word was used to merely push the bar as far as it can go (not so much excessive, more uninspiring, strangely). That Django can push the buttons it does and still remain an entertaining affair, without getting too bogged down with such issues, is a tribute to Tarantino as a filmmaker. Django is as much an important film about race as it is an irreverent, over the top western.

The film starts with the sort of style that one would expect from Tarantino. Its opening, gestures wildly to Sergio Corbucci original Django(1966) feature with its theme song and opening shot. The original Django enters the scene seemingly out of nowhere with death on his back (signified by the coffin he drags). This modern Django carries slashes. Both are referring to the burden that has been placed on them. When the theme song references Django by name, we get the name credit of Jamie Foxx, or a shot of Foxx himself. Tarantino primes the scene perfectly; with the 1966 theme song leading the audience into what they should expect (listen to the lyrics). From this start I felt that the film wasn't going to miss a beat.

For the most part, it doesn't. The tale of Django is told with the same kind of exuberance that you’d expect from its creator.  Tarantino understands that the original film was what it was due to how it shunned sand and romantic western nostalgia for violence and mud.  Unchained goes over the same areas, with more gusto. The film has its characters trudging through sludge in the same way Franco Nero did nearly 50 years ago. Just the very fact that the mud that many of these characters trudge through in the early stages are as dirty as the themes the narrative bring up.

Sequences are wonderfully staged, with the film’s first act being particularly smart and well formed (the fainting women is a great touch).When the chambers flash, the film is nothing short of dazzling, with Tarantinoshow just how much he’s evolved in staging and using space when it comes to action. The violence itself is provocative. We see horrible savage violence on African Americans which is depicted as brutally as you would expect. Tarantino’s use of reaction shots says everything we need to know about its nastiness. The violence in retaliation is boarder, more comic and in a strange way, more cathartic. It’s hard to say I didn’t enjoy Django getting his own back. However, I was more entertained by Django’s independence. Watching him grow as a character (much of it down to Foxx’s performance) was compelling.      

But then Tarantino’s characters here are amongst some of his most engaging, with Waltz and Foxx invoke that same winning chemistry that made Jules and Vincent the poster boys of 90’s students.  Samuel L Jackson’s Steven is an embodiment of evil that comes from a very real place. Much has been said about LeonardoDiCaprio’s scenery chewing racist Calvin Candie (and he is a great pantomime villain for a piece like this), but it’s the role of Stephen that is the most troubling, a character who has self loathing for his own race. Despite the films over the top way, there is a disturbing truthfulness that comes from Stephen’s contentment that there is a racial hierarchy. The dynamic between Foxx’s Django and Jackson’s Stephen was worth my ticket price alone, an eye opening insight into the racial divide that ironically reminded me of Jackson’s role in Spike Lee’s School Daze.

Tarantino, always the hip hop director, samples a bit of all the things that influence him to create an outlandish pastiche full of flourishes of style. It’s the Peckinpah style shoot outs, the gorgeous scenery is mixed with the “badass” cool of characters like Django and the headstrong rush into such a volatile subject matter. It’s unfortunate that Tarantino’s love for exploitation takes things too far for its own good.

It’s great to see a director (be it White, Black, Asian or other) to embrace another’s culture in such a way (the film is heavily influenced by Blaxploitation as well as the Italian Genre Westerns) and yet Quentin’s love of the homage overdoes itself as it did in Death Proof. Django betrays the origins of its grind house, exploitation fare its semi based in and lacks the economy that films like the 1966 Django had. It doesn’t help that the film doesn't hold the novelistic structure that featured in Inglourious Basterds (and the tension).  You could also can argue that Once upon a Time in the West has an equally lengthy running time, but as much as I love Tarantino, he is not Leone. The film is not nearly as operatic it could be and could do with a trim, while the screenplay doesn't hold the same amount of wit and rhythm as earlier works despite some of it being quite amusing. Another weakness is the film handling of Kerry Washington who is a much stronger actress than merely a trophy to be collected.   

But there are moments in which Django shows that it’s more than a sum of its parts. To me, it doesn't just embrace black culture, but it also gives us a black hero driven by love, given his own flaws and an arc that makes him complex. Even his main relationship in the film is fascinating, growing from uncertainty, to mutual respect and beyond. The film’s use of hip hop as a stylistic is choice goes beyond doing it because it’s cool. It metaphorically calls on the difficult relationship that genre has with many also whether Tarantino believes that or not.

For me, Django is far from Quentin’s best; and yet, features so many singular bombastic moments of entertainment that the difficult second viewing has to be performed as soon as possible.  It’s also important to remember that in its infancy, the film had Will Smith as a possible consideration as the lead. While the argument on if a film like this could be made by a black director still hangs in the air (IMO it could not, 1: they’re not Quentin, 2: the conservatism of Hollywood in general)   Foxx’s performance with its nuance and swagger and Tarantino’s clout, writing and flair have once again opened up the idea that a film with a black lead (not a biopic) could open well and people would not only watch it, but enjoy it. Let’s see what happens when the U.K snow clears. 

Review: 2 Days in New York

Year: 2012
Director: Julie Deply
Screenplay: Julie Deply, Alexia Landeau
Starring: Julie Deply, Chris Rock, Albert Deply, Alexia Landeau, Alexandre Nahon, Dylan Baker

Synopsis is here

I wasn't surprised that my girlfriend could not get into Julie Deply's ditzy comedy. After half an hour, she gave up. It's a rom-com truly not for her tastes. A fan of the likes of Serendipity, I was not at all shocked that Deply's messy view on life, love and relationships got her. And not in a good way. Not a negative on my other half at all, but the romantic movies that she enjoys always lean towards the comfortable. Everything slotting into place, like a Disney feature. Deply, star of films such as Before Sunrise/Sunset has a far more disordered approach. All the better, says I. With so many comfortable romantic comedies languishing in the realm of diminishing returns, 2 Days in New York's disorganized yet light hearted resonance is a well needed shot in the arm.

Filmed in a very free wheeling, intimate style with its point of view is squarely set with it's bewildered lead, 2 Day's in New York has a zaniness that I did not expect. However, outlandish moments in the film that would sink other romantic comedies are invigorating here, purely because Delpy's Marion is a more in touch human being than the Heigl-types that have invested the romantic domain. Her oddball point of view is displayed in its purposely erratic editing, we connect to Marion as she tries to connect with everything else. Even when she fakes a brain tumour to try and stabilise an antagonistic encounter. We are with her because we can relate. Relationships of all kinds can be tricky.

The theme of relationships are cemented with the film main motif of art mirroring life. Marion; an artist, is selling her soul as part of an installation. Along side this, are photographs of Marion in past romantic relationships that have not worked in the past. From the start we see how her frustrations stem from making such thing try and work. What have her relationships done to her soul? Even if she doesn't believe in it enough, why is she selling it? Futhermore, who would want it?

The torment continues as Marion's father (Albert Deply) and sister (with boyfriend in tow) appear out of the blue and descend a truckload of dysfunction with them. Her sister, Rose (Landeau), brings with her a sibling rivalry that hasn't evolved since adolescence. Walking around scantly clad to warm the blood of the men around her and boil her sisters. Her father, is a kind but misplaced man, who doesn't fit well with the hectic city life he finds himself in. The less said about Rose's boyfriend (Nahon), the better.

The family's arrival, clash with relationship between Marion and her live in boyfriend, Mingus (Rock). The harmony is destroyed by a barrage of miscommunication through the language barrier, culture and New York's blurred lines of racial identity. Rose's boyfriend, Manu, with his Public Enemy t-shirts and chatter about Salt n Pepa, is bemused at Marion's ability to find the only "brother that doesn't smoke". Manu's observations are often key despite being politically incorrect. Reminding the audience of the typical established roles and traits that Afro Americans are often viewed by.

The film balances smart and insightful relationship issues, with a good humoured comedy of manners. Deply's desperate housewife tries to balance her sexuality, motherhood and bohemian lifestyle along side her quirky family, but it never talks down, or condescends, and much of its humour comes from a believable and grounded place. Such discipline continues with the casting of Chris Rock. Playing against type, Rock is a refreshing as an actual loving partner who doesn't fit into the mainstream, overtly masculine archetypes often portrayed by granite chinned mouth breathers.

The overall tone of the film; for lack of a better word, is playful. And while the final third descends into silliness with a infamous director cropping up and racking up hipster points, even then, it doesn't fully leave the general feel of the film. 2 Days in New York manages to be just as light as so many of its ilk and yet still happens to look at healthy interracial relationships with a keen eye, as well as the often troublesome role of family and how it ebbs and flows. One hopes that their girlfriend gives it another chance.