Archive for the ‘UK’ Category
When I recommend a film to The Divine P, it’s usually met with some form of statement intended to convey her misgivings about ever having chosen to live with me in the first place. She’s a harsh critic, but as I’ve made her sit through some pretty eclectic stuff, pretty fair and unusually trusting. The other things you may know about me by now is that I am English, but not the tub-thumping jingoistic kind, just English. I am also distrustful about films with songs in – don’t ask why, it’s just not right. So, imagine an evening where there’s an English film on TV that The Divine P loves (and which I recommended), that has songs in and which makes me proud to be English.
One that I have been meaning to do for some time – without doubt, one of the finest films ever made about the Holocaust and one that, in differing its approach from the similarly superb Schindler’s List (1993), manages to convey the unique horrors of those anti-human times in a way that is peculiarly intimate and personal.
‘Is that what you love? Death?’
John Fowles’s debut novel, released in 1963, raised more than a few eyebrows and, for this reviewer, William Wyler’s 1965 film is simply one of the very best movie adaptations ever made, to be spoken of in the same breath as Rosemary’s Baby (1968) or Schindler’s List (1993), with central performances from Terence Stamp and Samantha Eggar that are nothing short of mesmerizing.
Recent favourable talk of The Bodyguard (1993) and, God save us all, Dirty Dancing (1987) has forced me also to indulge in more praise for another guilty pleasure. I have never been a huge fan of writer Richard Curtis’s rosy views of London, such as Love, Actually (2003) (which he also directed) or the Bridget Jones adaptations, but Notting Hill (1999), directed by Roger Michell (The Mother (2003)) managed both to make me laugh and move me. There, I’ve said it.
This is my all-time favourite feel-good, feel-sad, feel-just-pretty-darn-emotional movie. The cast of characters is so alive, you’ll be whisked away in seconds to Britain at war and find yourself hanging on every twist and turn in the tales of three American soldiers who fall in love with local girls as they train for their grim deployment to war-torn Europe.
‘You want it? You want it with me?’
A warning to the squeamish – foul language (in context) ahead.
It was based on his own childhood, was Gary Oldman’s feature debut – Jesus wept. You’ve never seen anything like Nil by Mouth (1997) – there hasn’t been another film made that deals so unflinchingly with what is still very much a problem for many women, namely domestic violence.
So, what is it with all the UK re-releases? Not that anyone’s complaining – cinemagoers in Blighty have been given splendid opportunities to take a trip down cinematic ‘memory lane’ recently, with John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982) and Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941) receiving silver-screen encores.
Wouldn’t you know it? Colin was recently complaining about the relative dearth of really good films concerning the beautiful game and, while he was coming more from the hooligan-culture side of things, the same could be said of movies about football itself.
Can’t you just feel the excitement? Picturenose is approaching its 300th post (this would be number 294), so a good time to talk about Vinyan (2008), the most recent film by Belgian horror master, Fabrice Du Welz.
Regular PN readers will be only too aware how well Du Welz’s first film, Calvaire (The Ordeal) (2004) went down with yours truly – as a lifelong horror fan (but only the good stuff, mind), it numbers among the most frightening films I have ever seen and, as I confessed with my initial review, actually gave me a nightmare.
In this affecting, involving and occasionally harrowing examination of how grief can throw the mind off kilter, by renowned Italian director Antonello Grimaldi (Un Delitto impossibile (2001)), widower Pietro Paladini (actor/director Nanni Moretti) is spending his post-bereavement days on a bench in front of his daughter’s primary school. The story recalls Moretti’s own Palme d’Or winner La stanza del figlio (The Son’s Room) (2001), but Grimaldi’s adaptation of the bestselling Sandro Veronesi novel stands on its own merits.









