Author Archives: Ben Gould
Haymarket, Edinburgh – the shit of dreams!
Haymarket is a bit of a toilet at times but a charming one. And that bar you see, Ryrie’s. So many fond memories, life moments! We used to (and might intend to in the post-pandemic future) get utterly fucking wasted there on a Sunday school night and end up on an unscripted adventure with a troupe of travelling actors (Shakespeare in Murieston Park) or tourists on a three-week bender.
I’ve met some good pals in that bar. And that’s what bars are for.
If you designed the perfect blockbuster The Mummy (1999) would be it.
There’s a deep and thoughtful longing – which I very much approve of – at the moment for the return of Brendan Fraser, and it appears to have been massively aided by this GQ article, the piece a rarity of this sort in how well written and insightful it is. The lad is captivating, refreshingly honest, and an actor who was simply great in everything – believable, relatable, but with an edge. He always gave me the impression that he had been parachuted into the film and we were there to follow him on his journey. A stoic naïveté was strong with this one. Is that not what a reluctant hero is?
The Mummy (1999) is awesome, Fraser pulling off the Indiana Jones role with aplomb. It was awesome at the time but now it has been elevated. I’d sum the never-boring riot as good old-fashioned popcorn entertainment which uses CGI in a productive way, i.e., you can see the point of its use. It works and without it the movie wouldn’t succeed to the extent that it does. A fine juggling act is mastered between live action, the digital effects, pacing, and characterisation. It is a silly affair but a good silly.
Even John Hannah isn’t that annoying. And he annoys me in everything. Aside from this, where he is only slightly annoying. Special mention to Kevin J. O’Connor whose Beni Gabor steals the show, an apparent weasel of greed, self-interest, and opportunism, yet somehow in the most underwritten role he squeezes out the comedy and, dare I say it, the pathos. Almost everything he does, I’d do the same in his shoes.
I would recommend this movie to just about anyone.
News of the World (2020) is a relentless snore.
Once again, Tom Hanks is a flawless, completely morally incorruptible hero who never puts a foot wrong, never makes a mistake, and is not really affected by anything that goes on. Someone needs to just stop the lad from pulling this act. As silly as this sounds, I’ve never rated him as an actor nor his pathetic bargain basket Jimmy Stewart shtick. He’s a vacuum. There is nothing there. He is so dull.
I did expect more from Paul Greengrass, though, given the immense quality of his CV. But this film was a disaster, a procession of one generic snooze-scene after another. I wasn’t just bored out of my mind; it got to the stage around 40 minutes in where I started to predict what would happen next and how the flick would end. I passed with flying colours.
What an absolute waste of time this movie was. I burst out laughing at one bit when Hanks went Full-Mark Antony and somehow managed to start a mob riot through his oratorical mastery of reading a newspaper. I’ve been more inspired by a three-day-old sweetcorn in one of my dumps.
Avoid (the movie) like … anything which vexes you, really.
Point Blank (1967). How fabulous this is.
Lee Marvin had a bonkers year in 1967, this thriller and The Dirty Dozen representing the peak of his cult, not that your random audience member knew it at the time. They are a curious twosome as Point Blank appears a blueprint for a future style of film aesthetics and the Robert Aldrich ripper a throwback or definition of the classical form, if not in its then-graphic onscreen violence. It’s a watershed 52 weeks. I wasn’t alive back then, and thank fuck. But it looks eventful (just watch The Graduate).
What a seductive picture, and even the jarring time jumps work to reinforce the dreamy atmosphere of the film. The precise framing and use of colour, it LOOKS AMAZING (CAPS LOCK ALERT). The overlapping sound is pre-Robert Altman but betters those seminal works because it’s more than a silly afterthought or accident. There are scenes in this which require so little dialogue they may as well be Godard in a traffic jam. It’s an exercise in stylistics. You get this with first-time filmmakers or those in the early throes of the game – the bold choices, the going with the instinct. Peckinpah retained it almost to the end. Scorsese – the last man standing – still has it.
This is peak Tarantinto three decades before peak Tarantino. But without the feet obsession.
It’s also hilarious. Marvin has to be the coolest bloke to ever be off his tits. He retains throughout a semi-plastered hangdog expression and even in his quietest rage barely looks interested in proceedings. It’s all too easy for Marvin. All he wants is his cash but not even the corporate pyramid semi-responsible for his fate are even capable of doing the basics. Almost everyone in this movie is useless. It’s a life lesson.
Point Blank is a relic and a template.
P.S. There is no relation between this and Point Break (1991), which I watched a few weeks ago.
Point Break (1991), I like you.
A Friday night last month was the first time I’d ever seen this. I really should have done so before but I was too busy in my youth crawling around the arty-farty remnants from Fellini’s nightmares.
Gary Busey was the main draw, someone I’ll watch in anything. I have always retained an admiration for his white chompers. He is a kind of human shark.
It’s an impressive movie from the off with its immediate characterisation – you know straight away what the players are all about, and the dialogue sounds like it’s satirical but it isn’t. A template for satire is on display.
The weird Zen thing which Swayze and Reeves have between them is hilarious. Swayze knows the lad is FBI but just strings him along for the banter and to better the both of them. How do you connect EXTREME SURFING and the rest of it with robbing banks?
And the director Kathryn Bigelow has rather the unique message going on for her with her approximation of women being just as solid as the lads and kicking the fuck out of them, and the boys giving it back. It’s a non-gender-nonsense movie. All rather refreshing, and then you realise it’s from 1991, WAY ahead of its time.
So much energy; within every frame is a zest for the kinetic. It’s not exactly ‘deep’ but an attempt is made. It’s only a bank heist/surfer movie after all.
Outstanding.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 