2013-05-21T03:14:54-04:00 Greg Wetherall http://www.news.moviefone.com/author/index.php?author=greg-wetherall Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Greg Wetherall Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.3192014 2013-05-01T08:30:07-04:00 2013-05-02T09:21:42-04:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/
I am sure I speak for a lot of the attendees when I state that this year's festival was a pretty much an unqualified success. Sure, there were a few technical glitches - a delay in the commencement of the David Arnold film score discussion springs to mind, as does the slide issues in the screenwriter's flash lab. However, there was no recurrence of the subtitle issue from last year's 2 Days In New York, which resulted in an abandoned screening.

There seemed to be a greater number in attendance and the whole operation was joyfully efficient, informal and inclusive. The London Film Festival is an essential fixture on the British film-going calendar, let's not dispute that, but it is also a sprawling thing of disjointed wonder. If LFF is the Glastonbury of film festivals, then Sundance London is becoming the Latitude or Bestival. It is more intimate, cosy and it feels uniquely special. It provides an important distillation of the best of the independent scene and deserves to remain an annual event in the coming years. Let's hope that this is the case.

Muscle Shoals ***

Muscle Shoals, located amidst the swampy and muddy tracks of Alabama, is a remarkable place.

With an all-white house band and a formidable producer in Rick Hall, this remote location and the unassuming FAME studios built a reputation for conjuring the most magical of recordings. Aretha Franklin's 'Respect', Etta James', 'I'd Rather Go Blind', Wilson Pickett's, 'Mustang Sally', Percy Sledge's, 'When A Man Loves A Woman' and many more titans of the 60s songbook were recorded within its hallowed walls. This documentary film features testimony from the key players and fans of the era, including the aforementioned Percy Sledge and Wilson Pickett, along with Bono, Keith Richards, Candi Staton, Alicia Keys and Mick Jagger etc.

Despite the abundance of contributors and a familiar musical backdrop, the second half flounders in its own checklist recall of the artists who have recorded there. This pushes the film into the realms of a BBC4 documentary and away from anything particularly cinematic. However, this is not really a failing of the director, Greg 'Freddy' Camalier, as he fulfils the requisite demands of the story with a firm-handed but affectionate efficiency. It is just that this is not a widescreen visually panoramic tale. The soul is in the music and the spirit is in the grooves. Surely, that is the whole point anyway?

Muscle Shoals is carried through by the toe tapping and finger clicking music that it documents. A touching portrait of (mainly) American song.

Blood Brother *****

An astounding, awe-inspiring and inspirational feature charting the voluntary redeployment of a young American man into a school housing HIV-infected children in India.

Filmed by his best friend, Steve Hoover, this is a refreshingly honest account of a man upping sticks and relocating to an alien environment away from the creature comforts of home. This is not mere Comic Relief bulletin here, but a soaring and frank dissection of an individual who has the intention of permanently remaining in a seemingly hopeless situation. A person wrestling with the awareness that to make this choice will inevitably fill his life with loss and pain but is nevertheless determined to integrate and commit for a single simple exchange; love for love.

It may smack of cliché to suggest that this is a picture painted of care, empathy, compassion and understanding, but it is absolutely the case. It could be seen as a counter point to the festival's God Loves Uganda. Whereas that film showed Christianity hijacked for unchristian aims, this is the Good Samaritan writ large and with sincerity. It may echo elegy but it is a spiritual payer for noble motivations.

There are laughs and tears, smiles and heartache, hope and fear - much like life itself. If you were so inclined, you could see it as the documentary companion piece to Haneke's Oscar-winning, Amour. It was the outstanding entry at Sundance this year. Essential.

The Summit ****

In 2008, 18 mountaineers traversed the K2 summit, the second highest peak in the world, and the most dangerous. Only 7 would come down alive. Of those who did survive, there is still a mystery as to what occurred out there on the slopes.

Film maker, Nick Ryan, plays with time in The Summit. Intercutting the 2008 event with an account of the first successful climb on the mountain in 1954, he also appears to frontload all of the facts at the start of the film, leaving the viewer unsure as to where they are headed or what could possibly be left to be told for the substantial segment of the running time. However, it is with a measured precision that additional facts eke out and help to paint an engrossing story of what ifs and might have beens. The clever use of reconstruction cannot help but draw parallels with the excellent Touching the Void, which similarly covered an incident on K2. Much like that film, this is an exercise in detailing tragic events with a graceful respect for the power of nature and of the suffering endured by its subjects.

The cinematography is wondrously exhilarating, dizzying and beautifully framed. Rightly winning the editing award at Sundance 2013, The Summit oozes competency and emotional engagement.

In Fear **

In Fear is a predominately two-handed horror that tells a familiar-sounding tale of a boy and girl getting lost in the back country roads of Ireland. They struggle to locate the hotel for their first night stopover on a detour to a festival that they are supposed to be attending. As it dawns of them that they are lost, and with the dark of night descending, panic and delirium kicks in. Is this fear justified? Things go hideously wrong.

Sadly, this feature reeks of the tired tried-and-tested horror formula; woods + people lost + evil = horror film. This is not necessarily a problem, as it is how the matters are handled that truly mark out success or failure. Unfortunately, despite knowledge that director, Jeremy Lovering, withheld the script from the cast in order to spruce proceedings with a sprinkle of authenticity and improvisation, the only real horror is in the finished product being an almost complete turkey. This is a pity, as matters start out promisingly enough. Tension is metered with a tautly paced opening. This is assisted by the suitably washed-out and grubby tinge to the film. It is just a shame that things go so blandly downhill.

The pitfalls for most horror films is in handling the crescendo and ensuring that the crescendo itself is worth the build-up. There are strong hints of Wolf Creek in this feature, along with any other number of horrors that you could shake a Blair Witch woods stick at.

In Fear compromises any vision by embracing the familiar, when it would have done well to have forged the new. A failure and a sad disappointment.

The Inevitable Defeat Of Mister And Pete ****

The mere mention of the synopsis of this film would be enough to engender criticisms from some quarters of a film maker wallowing in poverty clichés. However, the sheer joie de vivre that pulsates through this picture would surely render any such allegation as a futile call against a life-affirming work.

Mister is the son of a troubled young single mother who is mired in her recreational drug habits. She is unfit for caring for them and is soon whisked away by the authorities. Failing in their attempt to capture and rehouse the young children, Mister and his fostered brother Pete are left to fend for themselves in the tough project neighbourhood. The Inevitable Defeat of Mister and Pete follows their scraps and scrapes to survive in this tough climate.

Somehow straddling a bizarre line between Grave of the Fireflies, Twins and Precious this is a study of a misfit relationship wound into a story of adventure and survival. Their comradeship is bound by loyalty, desperation and dependency and the two young leads sizzle with a kinetic chemistry that is pure cinema gold for the director, George Tillman Jr. The script also rings helpfully with an irreverent, truthful and joyful rhythm.

The title may be elongated and lengthy, but the summary of its effect is not. This is a tub thumping success.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.3175794 2013-04-28T20:46:01-04:00 2013-04-29T11:31:26-04:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/
Two contrasting features formed the experiences on Friday evening. On the one side, there was the stultifying and positively frightening, God Loves Uganda, and on the other side there was the breezy comedy, Sleepwalk With Me. Both are not without serious merit.

God Loves Uganda ****

The Ugandan government is on the cusp of passing a Bill outlawing homosexuality. The far Christian right from the US are claiming substantial credit for this manifestation of affairs. Directed by Roger Ross Williams' God Loves Uganda is a mission to try to understand and detail this alarming political proposal.

It does so by shedding light on the impact American evangelical missionaries are having on the communities in Uganda. Armed with a Bible and a stream of memorised scripture, they are dangerously committed individuals with a rabid appetite for cultural shift. They intend to let nothing stop them spreading the Word and saving society from damnation.

Things start out slowly. The first third offers not much more than a stereotypical representation of Christian fanaticism and the view of Africa as a naïve and unsophisticated nation. Things do improve, however. Perspectives and arguments build. Detail floods the picture with colour.

To Williams' credit, he does this by enabling all participants to have a fair hearing. The missionaries seem to hang themselves by their own rope. Their black-and-white morality does not allow for the shades and complexities of real life, and this film indicates that there may often be a hollow core at the centre of self-righteousness. That there is an arrogance in evangelism. It depicts the predator-like indoctrination and brainwashing on those too young to adequately question the veracity of the source or the possibility of an alternative. In a depressing way, the missionaries success at large shows the fruits of blunt belligerence and unashamed opportunism.

Ultimately, God Loves Uganda has an extremely unsettling coda. It tells of manipulation through fear and a lack of understanding. Christian people preaching unchristian things. To boot, it is a story that is still playing out. It could not be more topical.

Sleepwalk With Me ****

The Sundance team tried to bring this feature over to our shores 12 months ago but due to the unavailability of its writer/producer/director/star, Mike Birbiglia, it was rolled over to this year's festival. It must be said, quite why there is no distribution deal for this film in the UK is a mystery (at the time of writing at least).

A semi-autobiographical tale from Birbiglia, this film follows him as Matt Pandamiglio; a man in crisis. He is in his 30s and in a long-term relationship that shows no real sense of direction. Thanks to him. He is also struggling in his ambition to be a stand-up comic. His girlfriend, Abby (Lauren Ambrose) is beginning to request greater commitment from him, just as many of their friends around them have not only tied the knot but are now surrounded by the patter of tiny feet. On top of this nasty cocktail for Matt lies a further woe in the form of a terrible medical condition that compels him to dangerously sleepwalk and enact out the most farfetched of dreams.

Opening with an address to camera, Birbiglia's character asks the audience to turn off their phones. So begins an endearing and frequent breaking of the Fourth Wall, in a similar fashion to that of John Cusack in High Fidelity and Larry David in Woody Allen's Whatever Works (Allen, of course, has done this in a number of his features). The tone is also similar. The characters are drawn with enough pathos and likeability to ascribe both empathy and affection. The observations are touchingly honest and familiar, echoing cliché but subverting the tropes of the genre at the same time.

Those expecting a rip-roaring laugh out loud comedy may end up disappointed. Sleepwalk With Me has humour but its real success lies in the merging of tragedy and hope within all of its characters and in steering matters with a refreshingly unpredictable navigation. It was a pleasant surprise. Here's hoping it finds a home in theatres and DVD in the UK. It deserves success, and I don't find myself saying that about many of the so-called comedies that make the trip across the Atlantic.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.3163575 2013-04-26T12:03:26-04:00 2013-04-28T07:46:37-04:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/ Sundance London.

Returning for a second year, the festival is a showcase for the best of the films from the annual and longstanding stateside version, whilst also shining some focus on domestic talent in a strand classed as 'UK Spotlight'. Over the course of 4 days, a total of 20 feature-length films and documentaries, along with numerous short films, music acts and panel discussions will take place.

There is a strange mix of matters that need addressing with Sundance London Mk II. Firstly, and rather bizarrely, the announcement and the lead-up details were less user-friendly and transparent than last year. The website was more cumbersome and the addition of films and acts late on in the day, at a point where a significant number had already purchased packages and selected films, led to frustration and irritation in some quarters.

On the plus side, the programme has stretched out and the event feels broader and bigger than last year. There does seem to be a greater leaning towards documentaries this year, which might say more about the flailing state of original fictional storytelling than any convenient turn of phrase that may be injected by me.

So, what about day 1?

Well, for this particular scribe and eager cinema goer, it was a day filled with fish and eagles. In fact, to be precise, a powerful documentary film entitled, Blackfish, and a documentary chronicling the first 10 years in the history of the globe conquering country rock Gods, the Eagles.


Blackfish ****

Blackfish throws up some interesting points of view in its taut 80 minutes. Exposing the ill-treatment of Killer Whales in the marine entertainment industry, it focuses the full force of its ire at the renowned SeaWorld, whilst not allowing those of its ilk to completely escape unscathed either. Using the case book of accidents, incidents and killings that have occurred on the trainers over the years, the film dives into the history of the practice. Choosing to canvass opinion and eye-witness accounts, the lid is well and truly lifted on the captive treatment of the species of orca commonly known as Blackfish.

This is whistle-blowing cinema that peeks behind the veiled curtain to deliver a suspected but up to now unseen 'truth'. It spews with a barely contained rage and the fact that there is no counter view provided by SeaWorld (they apparently declined to comment), makes this an inherently lop-sided film. It is effectively a pro-animal rights soliloquy. However, quite how SeaWorld could have constructed an argument to deflect the evidence against them would have perhaps left a task more gargantuan than the exceptionally large whale, Tilikum, who lies at the centre of this film. Tilikum is the beating heart and glue of this sprawling piece, who is famous for his size and infamous for his capacity to 'lunge' at his trainers.

We hear tale after tale of inconsistent and volatile behaviour from him. We also hear heart-rending stories of how he is bullied by the smaller and more agile females, along with hours of isolation and a complete and utter lack of stimulation that makes up the bulk of his confined life. We are told that despite his alarming track record, the reason that he remains a mainstay of the circuit is because of one cold and simple fact; his sperm is worth a lot of money.

Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite could be accused of occasionally cutting her cloth with too much ghoulish emphasis on the archive footage of mishaps and attacks, but this is a necessary reveal to stir indignation, horror and outrage.

What you are left with is a compassionate poem that gasps in awe at the evident grief and frustration of these creatures. Although the lure to cynically meter the term anthropomorphising and a Disney-fication of the facts is tempting, the sheer evidence shows a mammal that is unusually social, emotional and self-aware. As one of the neuroscientists starkly put it after tests were done on a Killer Whale brain, not only is their brain extremely developed and advanced, but they simply have an extra part of the brain that we humans don't even have.

They say there is no such thing as bad publicity. Well, this documentary expunges any such notion, with a dismissive wave and a stern look. This is an anti-advert, if you will. That's my view, but you should really see it for yourself. A stunning opening to Sundance for this writer. It is also another example of the distributor, Dogwoof, promoting noble documentaries of unremitting power.

If you are not convinced by this review but were moved by the Cove, Project Nim or Grizzly Man, then this really is for you.

The History of The Eagles: Part One ****

One might think that should there ever be a Mount Rushmore of country rock, they may well etch the faces of the Eagles into the cliff side. However, they might need some time, for there have been quite a few comings and goings and line-up changes in camp Eagles over the years. This documentary ventures into the first chapter of the band's existence and provides evidence of the rifts, drifts, differences and fallouts that have occurred. It is probably fair to say that the Eagles are one of the most notoriously disharmonious of bands, who inexplicably and ironically orchestrate some of the most harmonious musical harmonies of any group since CSN. It is still a struggle today to meet a band that matches up vocally.

Although they may not straddle the earth with an omnipresence that marked their original inception and 1970s heyday, the reformed country rockers are still synonymous with classic radio and the rock album format.

Running at 2 hours, there is a lot of ground to cover. For a casual viewer, there is a mercifully breezy skip through respective childhoods and the pace is pushed with momentum towards the inspiring and prolific late-60s underground music scene of LA that homed residencies of Poco, Buffalo Springfield, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt et al. There is acknowledgment as to the creatively incestuous backdrop of the times, of the area and of the era. The sort that enabled artists to shift, move and collaborate seemingly at will. As the late 60s moved into the early 70s and success increased for the bulk of the aforementioned artists, it is clear that all look back with giddy rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia. The creativity was clearly as intoxicating as the drugs that they were recreationally self-medicating.

The Eagles were always a band that stood apart from their peers. They did so for a few reasons. One, is that they were massively successful in a way that the others could only dream of, another is that they had a steely core that made them efficiently consummate and business-like. Both of these aspects are highlighted by the documentary. The band reflect openly upon their motivations and inclinations, with a mix of new interviews and footage that dates back to the period. To see how much and how little they've changed is part of the joy of the feature. Around the mid-point, Joe Walsh arrives into the frame and is spotlighted in both the past and the present as an impassioned guitarist who is part-talent, part-court jester. His phrasing exudes a humorous hybrid of Keith Richards and Stephen Stills along with a healthy dose of his own breezy personality. For a music film, the tone is more or less consistently serious throughout, so his appearance offers some light hearted respite.

On the downside, there is not as much insight into the studio processes as a fan may want, but the band members are all given a fair hearing from both time periods and talk candidly about being in the epicentre of the Eagles whirlwind.

Understandably, Part One ends on a decisively sour note; their downfall and break-up. Although the pressures of topping the totemic Hotel California engulfed them all to a certain extent, it is clear that decisive fractures of the intragroup relationships had crippled the band. It is also evident that the distractions around the process was a demon that gobbled them up. Power may corrupt and absolute power may corrupt absolutely, but I am sure there is a pithy equivalent for success. Life in the fast lane had brought this group crashing into a ditch.

This is a tale that has enough acrimony to give Pink Floyd a run for their money. They may have been back together since 1994, as they will happily testify, but in case you're wondering, they only speak to Don Felder through lawyers. Some things don't change and won't be taken easy.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2959186 2013-03-26T19:28:48-04:00 2013-03-29T12:05:06-04:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/
Returning to his day job, Boyle re-enters the film arena with Trance, a London-based psychological thriller that rushes around with about as much calm and patience as an ADHD sufferer. He has said that he was finishing this project whilst he was working on the Olympic opening ceremony, and that this should be viewed as its 'dark, evil cousin'.

Starring Vincent Cassel, James McAvoy and Rosario Dawson, Trance undertakes a card shuffling roll call of sympathy and understanding. Early on, McAvoy's Simon misplaces a valuable painting. Under the persuasive encouragement of Cassel's band of criminals, he ends up seeking the counsel and help of hypnotist, Elizabeth (Dawson), to retrace his steps. Although the backdrop for the film is that of a common theme; a heist, it is merely window dressing for what is an indeed dark and, heck, schizophrenic joyride into the mind.

With a doffed cap to the disorientating freewheeling narrative of Nolan's Memento, this film similarly glides along a bumpy path. It takes pleasure in scrutinising the tricks and tics of memory. Boyle plays chess with the players and moves them around with the devilish glee of a ringmaster induced with the cruel egomaniacal urge of a cartoon villain. You can almost hear the grind of his hands rubbing together as he plots each skittish twist and turn. This is aided, helpfully, by Joe Aherne's source material and the screenplay's joyfully itchy nature. The film also has echoes of Inception. But with added sex.

Daring to make this an adult film and not dilute it in order to make it accessible for a wider and broader audience, he does not eschew from graphic and explicit depictions. He directs with the cinematic frisson of a British Tarantino, but without Quentin's fondness for a baggy screenplay. Having said that, and although such comparisons make for neat phrases for critics to write, Danny Boyle is very much his own man. His films are all underpinned by his stylistic stamps of authorship. In fact, as it tends to be a defining quality of all of Boyle's films, this one does not disappoint in its assault on the senses. The thumping soundtrack plays havoc on the ears and the fast cuts fix into the eyes with the precision of a laser beam.

Not everything is welcomed wholeheartedly and with open arms, however. As much as the virtues of Trance are easy to spot and identify, it is also somewhat flawed. So much emphasis seems to be placed on tripping the audience (in every possible sense) that the film renders itself a little distant to the sense of touch. The characters are slippery and the consequence of such skilful toying with the assumed integrity (or lack thereof) of the protagonists leads inevitably to an arms space from empathy.

In addition to this, the relentlessly florid displays of directorial showmanship makes the pacing a little too one-sided. So persistent is the pace that the runtime feels a little longer than the 101 minutes that it forms and you may well emerge exhausted as the lights come up. Maybe the frenetic nature of Trance is a deliberate counterpoint to the relative stasis of 127 Hours. As it stands, this film zips along at a speed that would make even Usain Bolt baulk and cower with fear.

Any quibbles mentioned do not deviate the bottom line verdict. This film is, on balance, a mighty success. It may not be as charming and loveable as the Oscar garnering Slumdog Millionaire, but it is a relentlessly entertaining thrill ride. It stands as an hour and forty minutes at a cinematic equivalent of the best theme park you could name. Hold on tight and buckle in.

Four Stars]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2485843 2013-01-16T07:11:49-05:00 2013-03-18T05:12:01-04:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/
"The sign of things to come? Is this the end of music on the High Street?"

I must admit, this one stings a bit. Why? Well, on a selfish level, I am an avid music and film fan. This one affects me. This time, it is personal.

On a broader level, however, perhaps more so than any other high street casualty since the demise of Woolworths, there is a noticeable collective sadness over the uncertain future of a retail icon. As news of HMV's announcement to go into administration on Monday filtered through to the public, it was met not with indifference, but with an online outpouring of regret and disappointment. Thankfully, I was not alone. People were engaging nostalgically, even sharing purchasing anecdotes. This was certainly not the case with Comet. Of course, there were people dancing prematurely on its grave too, as is the sneering wont of some factions of the online community. However, this was not the overall impression given, and it is with this in mind that I am compelled to write.

Firstly, why was there so much affection palpably pouring from the keyboards and smartphones of the general public? Well, I offer this; it is at least partly out of guilt. We have all played our role. All of us. Well, probably nearly all of us. The thing is, it is no good mourning now without tacit admission of this fact; we have all been complicit in the demise of HMV. We treated it like the elderly relative that we never quite saw enough and, now receiving a terminal diagnosis, soon they might not be around for us to make up for it. Guilt is a rotten thing.

Why didn't we support it? Easy. The internet was all too easy an alternative. Why pay more for something when you could wait a couple of days to get it cheaper and delivered directly to your door, free of charge? How many times have you enjoyed the browsing experience of wandering around HMV, and then thought to yourself, 'I'll wait until I get home and I'll have a look to see how much it is online'? That's if you even waited that long.

Unfortunately, being undercut in price was not HMV's only obstacle and challenge. It wasn't just a case of price matching. It is well documented that the entertainment industry is the area where the impact of the Internet and digital age has hit hardest. The industry is travelling in uncharted territory and all previous business models have been rendered completely redundant. There has been a staggering realisation that sometimes people simply do not want to pay anything at all. Fighting illegal downloads has been an uphill struggle in its own right. Indeed, the battle with the Internet has been inherently unfair from day one. It's a rigged game, like a boxing match where one fighter has knuckle dusters and the other one has nothing but floppy foam hands. Knuckle dusters will win every time.

Can lessons be learnt, from a business perspective, for a potential buyer? Well, HMV's only substantial rival in days past (not including the long deceased Our Price - gone, but not forgotten), The Virgin Megastore, was bought out by Zavvi Entertainment Ltd in 2007. Their tenure at the helm of the chain did not last long. Announcing liquidation in 2008, they ceased to exist in the high street after 2009. They were bought out by the Hut Group, and since then they have gone on to enjoy a bit of an online renaissance under the Zavvi name. In fact, the Hut Group posted a 54% increase in sales growth for 2012 (including other online operations, such as, www.mybag.co.uk and www.allsole.com) and overall revenue of £66.2m. Amazon.com registered profits of $631m for 2011, whilst for the same period, HMV listed losses of £122m. This tells its own tale.

Being a physical presence in a material world on the wane is a tough one too. Since the millennium, there has been less of a slow trudge or canter, and more of a gallop towards an existence of intangible arts in the form of MP3, the Kindle/Ebooks and streaming films online. People have sought convenience of access and a way of de-cluttering their homes at the same time. This is unprecedented, and it has come at the expense of quality of product, but that is an argument for another time.

What is the answer? How do you fight this tide, when you have rent, electricity, wages, distribution and many other overheads to pay? How is it possible? Is it even possible? Is this it, before we wave off and continue our voyage into the digital world, with nary a look in the rear-view mirror? One thing is for certain, HMV cannot exist without losing branches and/or jobs. That is inevitable. Could they become more competitive than they are currently? Could they put up a stronger fight against the Amazon.coms of this world?

An option could be to scale down the number of stores and view the remaining branches as loss leaders for the online business. That could work. People would still have personal identification with the stores; a relationship and bond that cultivates loyalty, but the store would not be expected to be profitable in its own right.

This is wishful thinking though, and maybe a bit of denial too. If it truly is the end of HMV, then I only have myself to blame. Well, we have only ourselves to blame (I'm not going down alone. I am not Joan of Arc, here). Our greed, laziness and apathy was a lethal cocktail. If HMV has supped its last sip and gasped its last breath, it will be bad not just for the shareholders, the founders, the high street or the entertainment industry, it will be bad for each of us individually. When all is said and done, I am just happy that I am not alone in my sadness and hope for a saviour. Then, maybe then, all parties will up their game.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2464650 2013-01-15T16:39:38-05:00 2013-03-17T05:12:01-04:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/
5. The Queen of Versailles

An astonishing feature charting the riches-to-rags tale of real estate time share maestro, David Siegel, and his wife, Jacqueline Siegel. The couple built an empire of jaw-dropping wealth, making easy money by selling packaged dreams to desperate Americans. The aim was to follow the couple as they went about building their dream home; a mansion based on the Palace of Versailles. However, they did not anticipate the financial crash that would ground their vision to a halt before the house was even completed. With a first half pitch that shows the crass influence of filthy lucre, the second half captures a staggering comedown, as a frantic attempt is made to prevent insolvency. All the cracks and strains of free-falling wealth and crumbling relationships are shown in high definition, with candid interviews providing stark summations of where feelings truly lie. It is, all told, a modern tale of a timeless set of themes, all blinged up and ready to go. Shakespeare would have loved this story.

4. Searching For Sugar Man

Possibly the most famous of the releases in this list, and one which has already gained the attention of the Academy. This film traced the whereabouts of acoustic troubadour, Rodriguez, who was originally discovered by two producers in a Detroit bar in the late 1960s. Having released a couple of critically acclaimed records, the albums bombed with little trace and the singer disappeared from the scene, amid rumors of an act of on-stage self-immolation. Unbeknownst to him, the record found an audience in apartheid-bound South Africa, as the political lyrics of his songs resonated with the cultural setting. Through the dogged and pugnacious efforts by two of his South African fans, an effort was made to discover what had really happened to this mysterious lank-haired enigma. What they discovered was even more shocking than they had ever thought possible.

3. Dreams Of A Life

A documentary of heart-breaking power, this film tells the story of Joyce Vincent -- a woman who was discovered dead lying on her sofa in her flat in North London, having lain there for three years. The corpse was so decomposed that it was only possible to identify her through comparing dental records with that of a holiday photograph. In a heart-wrenching twist, by her body were Christmas presents which she had just wrapped. Despite living above a busy shopping district in the heart of London, this woman slipped through the cracks, seemingly forgotten by everyone and remembered by no one. Once seen, it is an indelible tale about loneliness. How is it possible that in the modern world, people can vanish without trace? Filmmaker, Carol Morley, set about investigating the back story of this seemingly forgotten woman. What she found out was surprising; this was not some old person with nobody left to care for her. This was a young and attractive woman who had a wide social circle and was fondly remembered by those interviewed. How could she be dead for three years and no one notice? This film attempts to answer the puzzle through imagined recreations and interviews from those who knew her. An unforgettable viewing experience.

Okay, after deliberation, these two could not be separated, so they are to occupy a joint top-spot placing (okay, the Oscars may elect only one winner, but they don't do a countdown, so there's already a bit of an artistic license being taken here):

= 1. Jason Becker: Not Dead Yet

Could be seen as a companion piece to Michael Haneke's Best Film/Best Foreign Film entry, Amour. Jason Becker: Not Dead Yet follows the supernova-like eruption of a bewildering talent, which was cruelly chopped down by terminal illness at a very tender age. Becker was a teenage prodigy, with an astounding gift for the guitar that dazzled all who saw him play. Already capable of playing Clapton and Van Halen solos note-for-note by his early teens, he would soon be transposing classical symphonies to the guitar, showcasing a musical understanding that far outstripped his years. One day, not long after procuring a place as David Lee Roth's lead guitarist, Becker started complaining of a pinching sensation in his legs. Soon, he would be diagnosed with ALS and given three to five years to live. He would be paralyzed except for the ability to blink his eyes. Twenty-three years on, he is still alive and he is still making music. This is a staggering story of determination, the strength of the soul, of love for life and the will to be creatively active even in the most debilitating circumstances. His extended family provides testimony to what it is to truly love someone unconditionally, sacrificing their time and providing dedicated care without complaint. Covering universal themes, it is a compelling, life-affirming and beautiful work. Mesmerizing.

= 1. Chasing Ice

This has to be the greatest visual calling card to the effects of climate change committed to celluloid. Jeff Orlowski has created a documentary that manages to render wide-eyed wonder at the beauty of the planet, and also invoke complete dismay as to the impact human behavior is having on the ice caps. James Balog, a photographer for National Geographic, was given a task; photograph climate change. He quickly realized that the story lay in the ice. It was here that he would be able to provide visceral evidence as to the consequences of our industrial methods. Placing 25 cameras at different hotspots throughout the Arctic region, he set about documenting the changes that were happening. This film covers the difficulties he had in obtaining his vision, and the physical obstacles he faced along the way. What we are left with is undeniable proof that we are changing the make-up of the planet irrevocably and with haste. The other documentaries in this list could be identified as more effectively executed in telling their story, but none have the staggering visual poetry or motivating power to effect action from the viewer. It is morbidly riveting to watch, gluing you to the seat. This is a film that demands to be seen. Quite rightly, it has been celebrated by the jury at Sundance and beyond. It is the true definition of essential.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.2312220 2012-12-18T14:49:23-05:00 2013-02-17T05:12:01-05:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/ Carry on camping. The Epic 1st Part of This New Tolkien Trilogy.

The Lord of the Rings trilogy. What is there to say about the behemoth of the modern cinematic age, with its awards, its ridiculously long running times and its enormous footprint in the sand of the modern movie epic?

Such is the gangly shadow cast over the industry, that since the release of the original of the three films back in 2001, there has been a greater fondness than ever for the fantasy film adaptation. Sure, some credit also should go to the Harry Potter films (2001-2011), but they were not so consistent and did not arrive so fully formed. It wasn't until the Prisoner of Azkaban in 2004 that they began to operate on all levels and in all demographics. Now, with Harry's wand tucked up and placed in retirement (which seems a bit young considering he is only about 15), and Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy (2005-2012) drawing to a close with the release of the Dark Knight Rises (which was a colossal indulgence, all told, despite a few focused and good moments), there is a Hobbit-sized gap in the schedules for a new trilogy to begin.

This is where Peter Jackson steps in, and step in he did do, after original director Guillermo del Toro pulled out, which allowed him to move from an advisory role to that of fully formed director. Thankfully, he has forgotten none of his knowledge, and from the very opening scenes here, seems to relish revisiting the Shire and all things Tolkien.

Well, first to what's familiar and what's new. The familiar is introduced in the form of the Shire, which is exactly the same as to what we were introduced to in The Fellowship of the Ring. We are even passed over to Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm returning once again) and Frodo (Elijah Wood) before launching into the backstory exposition that provides much of the context for the upcoming tale.

So, now then, to the newcomer.

Martin Freeman, he of The Office fame (UK version), steps into the shoes of the young Bilbo Baggins and is the focus for these features. How does he manage? Well, he is actually very good indeed and wears these Hobbit shoes more like a pair of old slippers, such is the comfort that he exudes. There is a convincing wide-eyed innocence and vulnerability to him, which falls away as he treks through the foothills and mountains of this universe. He balances this in a charming manner and although this is not Al Pacino, Don Corleone growth, it is still nuanced enough that it thoroughly convinces. In fact, all the cast are dependably excellent. Sometimes, this troupe of characters bandy along like truculent and erratic school children on a field trip, hemmed in by a weary and disapproving Gandalf, who stops to take register, making sure all are accounted for and acting in harmonious fashion. There is much affection for this group though, bounding as they do across the land facing different trials and tribulations. Many of the set pieces are expertly handled and curated, propelling a real sense of camaraderie, urgency and danger.

Jackson, arguably a natural successor to George Lucas for helming a detailed and engrossing world of ceaseless imagination and wonder, has followed his lead in issuing a trilogy encapsulating the latter stages of a story before returning to the roots for a prequel trilogy. Where this pair differ, however, is in their grasp of storytelling, dialogue and narrative. Lucas is far from adequate in this field. Jackson has proved his chops to be much more successful and efficient. Nevertheless, there is still a concern that this film could be Jackson's very own Phantom Menace. Put in other words, a complete and utter disaster.

Reassuringly, whereas Lucas allowed his prequel trilogy to become weighed down by exercises in CGI use, to the point where the story served the CGI and not the other way round, Jackson combines CGI with old-fashioned costumes and decent storytelling to provide a satisfying assault on all senses, not just those of the eyes. He is undoubtedly the master of the panning shot. Managing to provide scale and grandeur with the swooping glide of his camera lens, which becomes a powerful tool when a grand classical score comes walloping behind it, which it does. Often.

Where he stumbles, is when there is room to pare matters down. For an epic, there is not enough pauses where Jackson trusts his audience to have invested enough in the characters to endure a lull without any tricks. Even in the subtlest of moments, there is still a lyrical musical passage guiding the audience as to how they should feel. He would do well to let his guard down occasionally.

Also, the villains are not always convincing. Gollum's appearance, although welcome and important, sometimes steers a little too close to parody. The trolls also seem to have been lifted straight out of East London, with their cockney mannerisms and mentions to 'get your laughing gear around this', which is a head-scratching and bizarre tone. Finally, the opening scenes where the group gather together at chez Hobbit is unnecessarily overlong. Patience is required at this particular point.

Aside from those quibbles, this is a zealous and impressive feature that absorbs and engrosses in equal measure. However, if you thought that the original films were a tedious 9-hour-plus cross-terrain walking trip through the New Zealand landscape offering nothing but boredom, chances are you will find this film irritating and possibly even inane. For the faithful, he has done enough not only to avoid sullying his reputation or the original films' legacy, but whet the appetite for the future installments. Shot back-to-back, the next one falls in a year's time. It will feel like a long wait.

They say in life that it is not the destination, but the journey in getting there. Jackson manages to make compulsive evidence that this proposition rings resoundingly true.

****

Dir: Peter Jackson

Duration: 159 mins

(U.S.)]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.2081677 2012-11-16T14:15:25-05:00 2013-01-16T05:12:01-05:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/ Spirits set to self-destruct. Audiard turns a spotlight on two flawed individuals in unsentimental love story.

Can we ever tame something that is not meant to be tamed? Is it possible to perpetually ride the wave of danger and emerge unscathed? Is the allure of risk the affirmation of success, even if the consequential trade-off is too grave to contemplate? In the field of chance, we dare to dream; it is both the making of man, and the eternally crushing folly of mankind.

Audiard has opted to return with a film to analyze this conceit. Having last graced cinema screens with the assured prison drama, A Prophet(2009), Rust and Bone is a film which takes an unflinching, if occasionally exaggerated, look at the motivations of people.

Marion Cotillard, fresh from her showing in the summer's blockbuster, The Dark Knight Rises (2012), appears as whale trainer, Stephanie. She has an early and apparently inconsequential encounter with street boxer-cum-nightclub bouncer, Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts) whilst blind drunk. This would appear to signify nothing. This changes after she loses her legs in a ferocious attack from one of the orcas. Ali is experiencing troubles of his own. Struggling to make a living and to support his young son, whom he shows a distinct lack of compassion or gentle love, he resorts to the world of street boxing in order to not only supply an income, but to unleash the fierce temper which boils beneath his surface. He finds solace in this particular brand of expression, and is visibly intoxicated in the textbook machismo that the 'sport' demands.

This is a film with an interesting directorial hand. Portraying a realism that invokes comparisons with the Dardenne brothers (who themselves had a successful outing last year in the exceptional The Kid with a Bike -- as an aside, it is worth noting that they share the same co-producer as Audiard), there are also visceral flourishes that evoke references to a director of Martin Scorsese's caliber and authorship. The fight scenes, in particular, shake and buzz with a fiery bluster of kinetic cinema, and the plain depiction of Stephanie's loss of legs, along with the paralyzed emotional state that Ali occupies is a blunt pummel to the audience's sense of identification.

Stephanie's voyage in the burden and adjustment of a realigned normality is engrossing and absorbing, as is Ali's reaction to her. Where danger is no longer an option in the form of whale training, Stephanie is drawn, like a moth to the flame, to the volatile volcano that is Ali. He is a construct of unbridled testosterone and is completely temperamental. His temper trigger is slight and his fury explosive.

Interestingly, even as the film progresses. the characters offer no real warmth and engender no sympathy, yet they are no less compelling for that. This success accounts for the strongest of encomiums that can be heaped on Audiard's storytelling here.

Despite casting a box office draw such as Cotillard, this is not a film that will sit particularly comfortable with mainstream audiences. It is a far more idiosyncratic and esoteric tale than that of A Prophet, although the rough and ready displays of violence will echo as a comfortable extension upon that film.

This is a film that studies the relationship that we have with our bodies; of function and of the respect we have for life. It is not concerned with exploring the redemptive powers of relationships with others. It is focused on the survival instincts that ring true to our own peculiar sense of character. In blowing up these traits with these characters, Audiard wishes that a wider lesson can be learnt. The revelation that our instincts offer identity -- showing restraint and recklessness, perfection and fault. We are human, and we are fallible. Sadly, if our subconscious is given the chance, we are just as likely to repeat mistakes as learn from them. There is no greater lesson, and there is no sadder truth.



**** (four stars)

Dir: Jacques Audiard

Duration: 123 mins

U.S. Release Date: Nov. 16, 2012

(2012) (France/Belguim)]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1983633 2012-10-19T10:03:28-04:00 2012-12-19T05:12:01-05:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/ Can you sometimes get exactly what you want? The Rolling Stones turn the clock back on 50 years and open up the vaults. With mixed results.

In recent years, the artists of rock 'n' roll's golden period have begun to open up and look back, becoming less precious about exposure and mystique. Dylan has stepped out of the shadows and written his own book, Chronicles, and even allowed Martin Scorsese to interview him for his documentary, No Direction Home. Led Zeppelin have just wrapped up and readied for release footage of their celebratory one-off 2007 reunion show filmed at London's O2, Neil Young has penned his memoirs, as has Pete Townshend. Long mocked because of their advancing age (grey hair and wisdom is anathema to the rock music crowd), the Rolling Stones plow on. Interestingly, if blues or jazz were their trade, age would not be an issue. However, it is not, and it is. Undeterred, these baby boomers are still rocking out and -- if the latest single "Doom and Gloom" is anything to go by -- still capable of producing the goods. It's quite possibly their strongest single in years.

It is high time therefore for a look back on an illustrious career that has famously had more than its fair share of sex, drugs and rock n' roll. However, those looking for a Beatles Anthology-esque examination will be disappointed. This is more ramshackle than that, much like the band themselves. This is a concise one-off film of only 118 minutes. Considering it took director, Brett Morgan, four months to wade through the archive footage (with assistance from co-producer, Mick Jagger), it is a shame that he hasn't been minded to create a more sprawling work, befitting of the Stones' lengthy career. In fact, the documentary ends abruptly at around 1977, and offers nothing after this date, save for closing credit live footage of Exile On Main Street track "All Down The Line" lifted from the 2008 film, Shine A Light.

Opening with color backstage footage and a live rendition of "Street Fighting Man," attention soon turns to the early days, and the maelstrom that consisted of live performance in the early and mid-60s for the Rolling Stones, with the incessant screaming and stage invasions. Emphasis is firmly placed on what it must have been like within this vortex, having to deal with a rapid ascent and devotional teenage girls (England) and boys (the rest of the world).

Whilst discussing the early period, coverage is given in a frank manner as to the band's feeling about the demise of original band member, Brian Jones. Whilst acknowledging his talent, it turns out that the band felt a degree of inevitability over his eventual death. Even though an element of mystery hangs over the drowning, Jones' relationship with drugs is well-known (Godard's film, Sympathy for the Devil, shows an induced and distracted Jones in the studio). As matters arose, the death came only two days before a free Hyde Park gig in front of 500,000 people -- a gig that would mark a baptism of fire for new guitarist, Mick Taylor, and also act as a remembrance for Jones. Drummer Charlie Watts recalls Mick crying in the corner of the dressing room on the day of the performance. By contrast, Keith states that his reason for not going to the funeral is because he didn't want to make it 'a circus,' and that he didn't even go to the funeral of his own mother and father.

Arriving at the late '60s, there are compelling scenes offered up by the Altamont stabbing of Meredith Hunter, but these are taken from the previously released feature, Gimme Shelter. This time around, however, it is enhanced by comments from the band looking back, which is illuminating seeing as it has since been perceived as the incident that killed the hippie dream and the anti-Woodstock.

Although the archive footage is interesting, there is not necessarily a dearth of unseen live material. The narrative itself is loosely played with, especially at the start, diverging down different avenues whilst vaguely seeking a chronological path (of sorts).

There are some interesting revelations contained within this documentary that will interest fans. For example, Mick Taylor finally provides the reason as to why he left the Stones. Jagger himself concedes that he did not know or understand why, and Taylor goes on to explain that during the early '70s, he was falling into heroin addiction.

Bill Wyman also distills what he believes is the sound of the Rolling Stones. Bearing a theory to Richards oft-quoted opinion that many bands can rock but not many can roll, he points towards the sound as being a consequence of Charlie's decision to follow Keith's lead, which means that the drums come in slightly behind the guitar, which is unusual in itself, whilst Bill's bass would be slightly ahead. Wyman describes this as leading to 'a wobble' effect, where things could fall apart at any given moment.

There is some interesting black and white footage of Mick and Keith writing material together in what is either backstage or in some sort of hotel room. Having an insight into how they worked together on the verge of what would be a particularly prolific part of their career is fascinating. Keith later voices opinion that of all the songs they wrote, "Midnight Rambler" would be the essence of the Jagger/Richards writing partnership. He states a belief that anyone else could have written any of the other tunes, but only he and Mick would have thought about making an opera out of the blues.

Coincidentally, much like that tune, this is certainly a film that goes on a ramble of its own. Starting in slightly messy fashion, like a band tuning up after a short time apart, and taking a while to lock into the groove. What is perhaps most surprising in this film, is that Mick Jagger possibly comes out as the most human and grounded out of all of them, save for Charlie Watts (of course), as he takes the wind and glamour out of the sails of some of Richard's more wild testaments. He is also the most openly candid in his reflections.

This has a lot common with Scorsese's aforementioned, No Direction Home; a film which covered Dylan in his '60s phase up to his conversion from acoustic guitar to electric, and the reaction that he encountered. In that film, Dylan spoke looking back on the events in talking heads. This film is much like that in spirit. Brett Morgan has ensured that the new interviews remain off-screen, however, so that old footage can take up the screen time. It must be said that the strongest live footage remains those procured from the previously released Ladies & Gentleman.

As far as flaws go, no reference is made at all to Ian Stewart, which seems a glaring omission considering this is an overview of the Rolling Stones' career and all the significant players. His distinctive piano work enhanced songs such as "Brown Sugar," amongst many others, and his lack of appearance in this documentary feels unfair and a missed opportunity. Also, there is no real detail on the relationship the Stones had with manager Andrew Loog Oldham.

Introducing the film, Jagger congratulated Brett Morgan for managing to cover 50 years of the Stones in a couple of hours. Well, he hasn't managed that. He has covered 25 years pretty well, but with some gaping holes. Whether this is down to the Stones' reticence in opening up, or a lack of probing is anyone's guess. The sudden conclusion to the film stuns, and makes for a dismissive hand waving to the output of the Stones in their later years. Although it is arguable that no sane person would equate this latter-day output as being near those of the first 20-or-so years of their existence, there have been a few interesting diversions in the subsequent post-Tattoo You era. Scant time is offered for Ronnie Wood and his involvement, which is a pity.

All of this begs a question: Is there a directors cut? Much like Cameron Crowe's film on Pearl Jam, Pearl Jam Twenty, is there a chunkier cut filling out and coloring in the parts omitted here?

At the premiere, Jagger gave a warning to the audience in preparation for the film saying that not all of the clothes stand the test of time. This may be true. However, even though the clothes may seem dated and out of time, the music and story feels timeless.

I know it's only a rock 'n' roll film, and you might not necessarily love it, but you'll probably like it.

*** (3 stars)

Dir: Brett Morgan

Duration: 118 mins

(2012)]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1944035 2012-10-05T18:10:15-04:00 2012-12-05T05:12:01-05:00

Greg Wetherall http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-wetherall/ Documentary filmmaker chronicles a year from within the walls of The New York Times as it comes face to face with the pressures of the modern media age


This 90-minute documentary achieved a limited theatrical release back in 2011, and charts the fight for survival for one of America's most respected and beloved newspapers, The New York Times. Their problem is one facing thousands of papers across the globe: Why pay for a newspaper in a world where information is everywhere -- instantly -- and for free?

Much of the film follows a man called David Carr, a reformed drug addict who came to journalism at the age of 46, who now works for the paper. We see him run through a gamut of tasks and ruminate on the state of the industry whilst traveling through the city. This material is interspersed with high-profile and prominent talking heads imparting opinions and predictions. At times, the grave tones of some of the witnesses jar the viewer into shock (and awe) at the reality of the threat facing these once powerful institutions. This aspect is the film's undoubted strength. These are troubling times, make no mistake.

Also, there is a good reason for the bulk of the film to focus on Carr. He stands out as a passionate spokesperson for The New York Times and the traditional media. He is an engaging presence and has a charisma. Unfortunately, however, the film struggles to contain an impulse to melodramatically delve in and out of his back story and this diminishes the impact of the piece. Furthermore, you cannot help but feel that the filmmaker, Andrew Rossi, wants Carr to be all things at once. There is a sense that he wants him to pull the curtain back, Wizard of Oz-style, to reveal media practices, play the cynic to the changing tides of the modern era, then to find a solution to save the industry. He would also like him to push the documentary along like a thriller.

The film suffers as a result. It leaps about too frequently, covering too many bases. The focus is far too scatter-shot to engender a compelling snapshot of the modern newspaper. Consequently, much viewer empathy is lost, and momentum that could have built towards a rallying cry for public support is at least partially blown by Rossi's wandering eye. This should have been a channeled, and terrifying, testimony to the precarious future of the print industry, and you do get the feeling that there is a riveting documentary beneath the murk.

There is certainly an argument that with unsentimental editing, this could have been a 60-minute documentary. Then again, that would have made it ripe for television. And that would not have earned this New York Times-funded documentary anywhere near as much money. Perhaps cynicism is raising its ugly head once more.

Ultimately, although it stands as a fascinating insight into the day-to-day practices of a longstanding and famously influential printing giant, this film is, frustratingly, an opportunity missed.]]>