Klaxons, 'Surfing the Void'

The follow up to 2007’s ‘Myths of the Near Future’ was always going to be a tricky affair for Klaxons. With a ludicrous ‘nu-rave’ tag, which was more the fault of a gimmick-hungry music industry than the band themselves, it seemed a drastic change in sound and style would be necessary if they were to shake off the shackles of their ‘nu-rave’ image and be taken seriously as a band, rather than merely NME poster-boys. While ‘Myths….’ has moments of greatness, it does possess an element of style over substance; their misguided cover of Grace’s ‘It’s Not Over Yet’, among a few other album fillers, already sounding dated well beyond their three years of age.

Thankfully, with long-awaited follow-up ‘Surfing the Void’, Klaxons find themselves drifting closer toward a sound of far greater depth and longevity. Where ‘Myths….’ relied far too heavily on immediate hooks and distinctly 90s synth sounds to grab your attention, ‘Surfing the Void’ displays a significant maturity both musically and structurally. Although there may not be much in the way of obvious singles or instant hits, the way by which each track grows on you serves to draw you in gradually, in a way that ‘Myths….’ severely lacks. Lead single ‘Echoes’ exemplifies this perfectly, with a deceptively catchy chorus that gets better and better with each listen. ‘Flashover’, a track of pounding intensity and dense production, is also an indicator of just how far Klaxons have come over the past three years.

Although for the most part ‘Surfing the Void’ is a major improvement, there are still a few imperfections lingering from its predecessor. The lyrics, for example, at times are beyond stupid. Presumably supposed to sound astronomical and spacey , they end up sounding more like the kind of insincere, sci-fi bollocks one would expect from Matt Bellamy in his recent attempts to destroy music. An example of such lyrical nonsense can be found in ‘Cypherspeed’, in which we are enlightened with the following: “Ride the pandemonium, The hyper confusion, Escape to nowhere, Glimpse no illusion, In the distance, Information, Glimpse the existent.” Rubbish. However, when compared to how good ‘Surfing the Void’ is as a whole, one can surely forgive them the occasional lyrical lapse.

Overall, the Klaxons return is an extremely welcome one. Whilst there was genuine concern that the band may have faded into obscurity in the wake of the ‘nu-rave’ scene, it would now appear that they possess a purpose and substance that wasn’t quite there before. With ‘Surfing the Void’, Klaxons have not only developed a sound of greater density and maturity, but have also suggested that their best is yet to come.

Salt

Having recently watched Phillip Noyce’s ‘Salt’, I’m still at somewhat of a loss as to some of the glowing reviews I’ve read of this ridiculous film. Being described by many as one of the action films of the summer and the first instalment of a potential ‘Bourne-esque’ franchise, ‘Salt’ should at the very least be entertaining. Yet somehow, despite a decent performance from Angelina Jolie in the lead role, ‘Salt’ merely comes across as boring, predictable, and above all else, stupid.

Littered with gaping plot holes and wooden performances from most of the cast, ‘Salt’ feels more like a bad B-movie, which Jolie has accidently stumbled into rather than a major Hollywood blockbuster. The story of evil Russian spies trying to bring down America is both tired and uninteresting, having been done many times before, only with far greater depth and intelligence. The result here is 1 hour and 40 minutes of watching Jolie carrying out an endless sequence of stunts which would have probably been rejected by the makers of ‘Die Hard 4’ on the grounds of being too far-fetched. Rather than developing and unfolding as an espionage/spy thriller in the vein of the ‘Bond’ or ‘Bourne’ films, ‘Salt’ shares far more in its plot exposition with a comic book movie, yet lacking any sense of charm or humour.

In addition to the sheer unoriginality and overall tedious tone, ‘Salt’ is also painfully predictable. The final ‘twist’ is not only obvious from around the 10 minute mark, but by the time it is ‘revealed’ I, along with most of the audience, had completely lost interest, possessing no element of surprise whatsoever. With characters this painstakingly dull and a plot that’s about as engaging and thrilling as an episode of ‘The Bill’, ‘Salt’ fails to deliver any of the essential components that are so essential to a film belonging to this genre.

The fact that Angelina Jolie still feels the need to make these kinds of film is equally disappointing, confirming her status, for me at least, as the most frustrating actress in Hollywood, somehow managing to move back and forth between film’s of genuine greatness and trashy nonsense; for every ‘A Mighty Heart’ there’s a ‘Tomb Raider’, for every ‘The Changeling’ there’s a ‘Mr and Mrs Smith’. Quite simply, an actress of Jolie’s talent and skill should not be wasting her time on rubbish like this, yet it almost seems inevitable that with ‘Salt’ being tipped as Hollywood’s next major franchise, there will be countless more below par action films to tarnish her CV in the coming years.

Eyes Without a Face

When looking back over the years at the truly defining moments of the horror genre, one will generally encounter the usual titles; ‘Psycho’, ‘Night of the Living Dead’, ‘The Exorcist’, ‘The Shining’, ‘Halloween’, etc. Each of these films has achieved enormous iconic status within popular culture as well as among horror fans, often the subject of parody and pastiche in comedy, TV and commercials. Even today, one is reminded of the terrifying ‘here’s Johnny’ moment from ‘The Shining’ by Lenny Henry in the equally disturbing Premier Inn campaign. Yet many will be unaware of George Franju’s 1959 cult classic ‘Eyes Without a Face’, a film which has been criminally overlooked and forgotten since its release five decades ago. A film that is both mesmeric and disturbing in its tone and subject matter, it’s hard to define why ‘Eyes Without a Face’ has missed out on the notoriety and success of these other classic titles.

The film is centred on Dr Genessier, a crazed surgeon obsessed with trying to find a new face for his disfigured daughter Christiane, following a car crash for which he was responsible. His attempts to do so involve the kidnapping of young women and the subsequent removal of their face. Meanwhile, Christiane is forced to wear a white, featureless mask to cover her horrendous facial injuries, giving her a haunting, ghostly presence. This darkly sinister premise makes for deeply suspenseful viewing, creating enough tension to easily rival many of those famous horror classics. One of the most important factors in producing this atmosphere is Franju’s technique of not revealing the face of Christiane straight away, and when the shocking moment comes, it is still partially blurred and distorted, leaving the viewer to imagine what her face looks like only through the terrified shrieks of the girl who sees her for the first time.

Franju’s intelligent use of suspense and his skill in allowing the audience’s imagination to provide the horror are expertly offset by the moment in which we witness the graphic removal of one of his victims’ face; an unflinching scene which still has the power to disturb, despite the progression in visual effects and graphic imagery since its release. The cold, surgical manner by which he goes about this appalling procedure is equally as effective as any of the typically over-the-top, gruesome murder scenes from most slasher films. In fact, the clinical, emotionless way in which the Genessier conducts this act is probably what makes it all the more unsettling. It is possible that this scene was one of the reasons to the film’s lack of exposure and success, being simply too explicit in its depiction of facial desecration and therefore turning audiences away rather than drawing them in.

Whatever the reason may be, ‘Eyes Without a Face’ absolutely deserves to be considered alongside the true greats of the genre. It’s utilisation of suspense, atmosphere and cold brutality make for a superb example of how horror movies should be made. Although it may be over fifty years old, ‘Eyes Without a Face’ has certainly lost none of its power or ability to shock and terrify.

A Mighty Heart

Since the release of ‘24 hour Party People’ back in 2002, Michael Winterbottom has firmly established himself as one of contemporary cinema’s most interesting directors. His knack for experimenting with narrative structure and exposition have become distinguishing features of his work, with ‘24 Hour Party People’ and 2006’s ‘A Cock and Bull Story’ each receiving great critical acclaim for their unique, innovative approach. Both of these films, however, were low budget affairs, built primarily around a cast of mostly British actors from television or other low budget releases.

For this reason, it may have come as a surprise to many when it was announced that Winterbottom would be directing Angelina Jolie in 2007’s ‘A Mighty Heart’. The coming together of a Hollywood A lister of Jolie’s stature, with the low-key, independent style of Winterbottom would surely be destined to fail. Thankfully, any doubts there may have been regarding such a pairing are immediately shattered, in what must surely be considered career bests for both Winterbottom and Jolie. Telling the tragic story of the kidnap and murder of American journalist Danny Pearl at the hand of a group of terrorists in Pakistan, ‘A Mighty Heart’ details the investigation and ultimately unsuccessful attempts to rescue Danny from his captors.

As opposed to Winterbottom’s previous work, the film’s narrative structure is played out in a linear fashion, possessing a documentary style that serves to make the unfolding tragedy feel all the more real. In many ways ‘A Mighty Heart’ treads a very thin line to absolute perfection, never once crossing over into melodrama or running into the political pitfalls that could so easily tarnish a film of its kind. An achievement clearly beyond the reach of so many post 9/11 political films. Take for example Gavin Hood’s abysmal ‘Rendition’ (2007), a film which took potentially interesting subject matter, only to set about pissing all over it with a stream of contrived, insincere nonsense and dumbed-down, Hollywood plot devices, with no concern for developing its central characters. It is precisely here that ‘A Mighty Heart’ succeeds, making no attempt at preaching to its audience and focussing solely on the relationships between its key characters as they each experience the series of appalling events.

Through her portrayal of Mariane Pearl, Danny’s wife, Jolie really demonstrates her ability as one of Hollywood’s finest talents, giving an astonishingly powerful performance. Throughout the film, as the police are conducting their search for her kidnapped husband, Jolie’s depiction of Mariane is both dignified and graceful, beautifully emphasising the remarkable strength of the real-life Mariane Pearl. By never allowing her performance to veer into melodrama during the search for Danny, the scene in which she is finally told of his death is made all the more harrowing and painful to watch, as we see her finally crumble under the weight of the ordeal she has been through, in a sequence that is both unremitting and overwhelming in its realism. What makes this scene particularly heart-wrenching is the air of inevitability in the lead up towards it, as we know from the start that this moment will eventually arrive, making it doubly distressing when it does.

In a film that could so easily have resulted in leaving its audience with a sense of anger or hatred, the predominant tone of ‘A Mighty Heart’ is one of hope. Through the terrible loss of her husband, Mariane appears unmoved and even more determined that racial and religious relations can only be resolved through maintaining a dialogue with one another, as opposed to violence and terror. A film of rare subtlety and unflinching tragedy, ‘A Mighty Heart’ is a brilliantly understated accomplishment from Winterbottom, further cementing his status as one of Britain’s most exciting and versatile directors.

The Fisher King

Anyone familiar with the work of Terry Gilliam, I’m sure will be aware of his distinctive ability to splice and integrate genres and themes within his films. In 1985’s ‘Brazil’ we see drama, satire and romance fused with fantasy and sci-fi, while 2006’s genre defying ‘Tideland’, my personal Gilliam favourite, combines elements of dream-like surrealism with gritty drama. With ‘The Fisher King’ (1991) we see a slightly more conventional platform for Gilliam’s unique vision. Set in New York, ‘The Fisher King’ could be described as part drama, part comedy and part romance, primarily following the relationship between a suicidal DJ named Jack (Jeff Bridges) and a psychologically deranged homeless man called Parry (Robin Williams), as they embark on a quest for personal redemption and romance.

For a number of reasons, I really enjoyed ‘The Fisher King’. To begin with, the direction is as reliably inventive and visually resplendent as one would expect from Gilliam. In one especially notable scene, we see a bustling subway station magically transformed into a majestic ballroom, the passengers passing through the station also being subject to this transformation, now gracefully dancing with, and amongst one another. This transition takes place as the homeless Parry follows Lydia (Amanda Plummer), the woman with whom he has fallen deeply in love with over the course of seeing her pass through the station every day. Gilliam’s masterful direction in whimsically altering the physical surroundings of the character as a means to represent their state of mind is a common trait in his work, and is as ambitious and awe-inspiring as ever.

The cast of ‘The Fisher King’ are equally impressive in their performances, with Jeff Bridges turning in a typically solid, perfectly measured portrayal of Jack Lucas. However, one of the strongest and most surprising aspects of the film is the superb performance from Robin Williams as Parry. For me Williams has always been a source of massive irritation. A performer whose sheer presence can be enough to ruin a scene, for fear of a typically ‘wacky’ outburst, usually consisting of him shouting lots and leaping around like an over-excited child. An insufferably drawn out and familiar routine, I think you’ll agree. Yet here he manages to keep the balance just right, maintaining the manic edge of the character whilst providing a subtle aura of shyness and fragility that is at times both deeply moving and heart-warming. The moment that he finally professes his love for Lydia almost had me in tears, such was the beauty of the performances in the scene from Williams and Plummer.

In many ways ‘The Fisher King’ could be seen as Gilliam’s most ambitious film. Though many may argue otherwise, that the likes of ‘Brazil’ and ‘Tideland’ are far more visually experimental and deal with seemingly more difficult subject matter, it is for this very reason that I believe the opposite. For Terry Gilliam to release a ‘difficult’ or ‘surreal’ film is generally a to be expected, whereas to produce a mainstream film that is at times funny, heart-warming, tragic and romantic, is in my view, a somewhat more difficult challenge. Particularly, as it retains all the classic Gilliam hallmarks of experimentalism and creative integrity. Although it doesn’t quite take the crown of Gilliam’s best from ‘Tideland’, it’s certainly a close runner-up.

Delicatessen

Films of a ‘quirky’ and ‘zany’ nature have never really sat well with me. More often than not, the same predictable superlatives and adjectives are used to describe them time and time again; fantastical, dream-like, original, weird and wonderful. All of which I tend to wholly disagree with. Usually, these kinds of film are completely interchangeable, taking place in a slightly surreal world and following the lives of a small group of oddball characters. Take for instance, Paul King’s 2009 film ‘The Bunny and The Bull’, whose protagonist, an obsessive compulsive agoraphobic, goes on a surreal, other-worldly journey, meeting a bunch of equally ‘interesting’ (boring) and ‘crazy’ (annoying) characters along the way. Admittedly, a film of great style, yet, substantially lacks in substance. Entertaining for around thirty minutes, tiresome and repetitive for the remaining seventy. Visually the film is a great success, developing a homemade style that will be familiar to those who also watch King’s ‘The Mighty Boosh’. The problem here is that far too much emphasis is placed on the visuals, whilst the characters and plot are essentially ignored and, therefore rendered irrelevant.

2009 again played host to another film that suffered with a similar problem. ‘Micmacs’ from director Jean-Pierre Jeunet, whose 1991 debut ‘Delicatessen’ we will come to shortly, is also very much a case of style over substance. Its collection of off-the-wall misfits living together in a junkyard acts only as a device to string a bunch of bizarre, circus-like sequences together. Although skilfully and beautifully shot, I once again found myself losing interest around the thirty minute mark, as the plot concerning a man seeking revenge on a bullet manufacturing company was so stiflingly dull I began to fear a boredom induced panic attack.

So, we arrive at Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro’s ‘Delicatessen’, which, for me, made for frustrating rather than disappointing viewing. The story takes place in a post war/apocalyptic, unspecified region in France, in which food is scarce and a cannibalistic butcher/apartment landlord keeps his tenants sustained on human meat. When a former circus performer named Pinon arrives looking for work, he is quickly employed as a handyman, unaware that he will soon be providing his employer with his next ration of meat. With a rich blend of horror, comedy and art-house surrealism, ‘Delicatessen’ should have left me in awe, hailing it as a modern classic, yet still I felt a nagging sense of frustration. On one hand, it is undoubtedly a far more impressive piece than either of the aforementioned films. Its deftly balanced combination of visual quirkiness and moments of nightmarish, black comedy work to wonderful effect.

However, it is still guilty of prioritising style over substance, with long periods in which nothing actually happens. Yes, there may be scenes and sequences of inventive cinematography and visual artistry, but still nothing is happening. This simply should not be possible for a film with such an inventive and unusual premise. Take for example the moments that depict a man living alone in a dark, flooded flat, infested with frogs and snails. There really is no purpose for these scenes to exist other than for the directors to engage in an act of self-indulgent smuggary and gratification at their own ability. All very nice, but ultimately very boring.

The trouble here really lies in where the directors invest the bulk of their efforts. In trying so hard to place the audience in the world of ‘Delicatessen’ primarily via its aesthetic, the element of engagement through characterisation and plot development are generally overlooked. Don’t get me wrong, ‘Delicatessen’ comes pretty close to striking the right balance, just not quite close enough. When compared to films of such insane brilliance as Terry Gilliam’s ‘Brazil’ or Michel Gondry’s ‘The Science of Sleep’, both master classes in how to achieve emotionally engaging pieces of surrealist, quirky cinema, ‘Delicatessen’ just falls short. With each of the above mentioned films, the aesthetics and surroundings are created to compliment and assist the plot in its development, as opposed to the other way around. In the end, what should have been at the very least a memorable film, ‘Delicatessen’, unfortunately, I found fairly forgettable.

The Idiots

For many a month I have been waiting to see Lars von Trier’s Dogme 95 debut feature ‘The Idiots’. For me, von Trier has been responsible for some of the most intelligent, thought provoking and confrontational cinema over the past decade. I found both ‘Dogville’ and’ Manderlay’ extremely interesting in their approach to improvisation and theatrical experimentation, while last year’s ‘Antichrist’ provided one of 2009’s surprise highlights, boasting two of the years most outstanding performances from Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg.

‘The Idiots’, however, is possibly one of the worst films I have seen in a very, very long time. It is a film of unbridled stupidity, sloppily disguised as a piece of taboo-shattering, art house cinema. Its premise; a group of able bodied and able minded adults pretend to be mentally handicapped in order to challenge society’s attitudes, as well as to get in touch with their own ‘inner idiot’. As ridiculous as this premise may sound, the film takes itself so seriously that one can only imagine how anyone involved failed to detect a sense of irony in the performances of the actors or the manner by which the subject matter was dealt. In some instances, the film glides dangerously close to becoming a parody of self-righteous, Gus van Sant-esque drivel. This pretentious plot or lack thereof, is at best flimsy, and at worst, insulting of its audience.

Stupidity and pretentiousness aside, ‘The Idiots’ is an appalling exercise in shameless shock tactics and unnecessary moments of controversy. In one particular sequence of laugh-out-loud ludicrousness, we see the group embark on a ‘spass (spaz) gangbang’ to further their journey towards their ‘inner idiot’. Just try saying this phrase aloud whilst maintaining a straight face, let alone a serious one. In an attempt to heighten the ‘realism’ and ‘gritty’ nature of this scene, von Trier uses scenes of actors having real sex. Quite what purpose this really serves, other than creating a fair amount of controversy and publicity for the film, is simply beyond me.

On reflection, all that can really be said about ‘The Idiots’ is that it is proof of the fact that even the best directors, even those such as the great Lars von Trier, are capable of producing moments of absolute, inexcusable, nonsensical rubbish. For anyone still interested in seeing ‘The Idiots’, if you feel that watching a group of people acting like 'retards' for two hours, whilst staging a ‘spaz gangbang’ to assist in their search for the ‘inner idiot’ sounds promising, this could be the film for you. If not, don’t bother.

Arcade Fire, 'The Suburbs'

In 2007 Arcade Fire released ‘Neon Bible’, the critically acclaimed follow-up to their 2004 debut, ‘Funeral’, which, contrary to the opinion of pretty much everyone else, I believe to be a far superior album. Although ‘Neon Bible’ had its moments, Intervention and My Body is a Cage being two of the band’s finest achievements, it clearly lacked the cohesive charm evident in its predecessor. In what appeared to be an attempt at sonic expansion and multi-layered musical density in its production, ‘Neon Bible’ had a muddy, and at times, impenetrable sound, which often hindered its tracks rather than enhance them. Take Black Mirror for example. A song which, when played live, reveals itself as a genuine classic to rival any single from ‘Funeral’, yet on record, feels sludgy and laborious. With this direction receiving praise from critics and fans alike, I was fully expecting Arcade Fire to continue in a very similar path.

The potential for disappointment with the band’s third release, ‘The Suburbs’, was further compounded when it was revealed that the record would boast sixteen new tracks, a number which surely suggests a significant amount of filler to be contained within. However, to underestimate a band of this calibre is very evidently a mistake, as ‘The Suburbs’ sees Arcade Fire not only make a clear return to form, but create their best and most accomplished album to date.

The over the top production values have been ditched in favour of a beautifully light and airy atmosphere, allowing each track to breathe and express itself in such a way that would never have been possible with ‘Neon Bible’. Opening track The Suburbs demonstrates this perfectly and acts as a direct contrast to Black Mirror, ‘Neon Bible’s’ opener. With understated piano and acoustic guitars providing a light and sparse mood, The Suburbs acts as a perfect precursor for what is to come over the next 65 minutes. This minimalist approach is once again evident in Modern Man, Rococo, and Deep Blue, displaying a newfound maturity and sense of discipline in their instrumentation.

The Suburbs also sees the band tread new ground in the form of Month of May, a pulsating and intense track that possesses an intensity and urgency previously unheard in their earlier work. Lead single We Used to Wait and Ready to Start each provide moments of similar intensity when compared to much of the album’s lighter moments, both held together by a rigid pulse and tight structure.

Their progression into new territories continues with Sprawl 2 (Mountains Beyond Mountains), arguably the most ambitious move the band have made to date. With a synth laden chorus, Sprawl 2 points the band in an electronic direction unheard in their previous offerings, providing a shimmering backdrop to a spectacularly infectious lead vocal performance from Regine. The way in which the song gently builds and applies its layers without once threatening to impose upon the melodic nature of the central vocal performance is quite simply an achievement in itself.

Not only have Arcade Fire made a welcome return to form with the best album of their career so far, I firmly believe ‘The Suburbs’ to be a true modern masterpiece. They have managed to create an album of such epic scale and grandeur whilst maintaining an atmosphere of understated beauty and simplicity. For me, ‘The Suburbs’ deserves to be firmly placed among the great album releases of the past decade, and certainly the best album of 2010 to date (new Interpol album pending). Furthermore, the sonic qualities displayed here hint at the potential for even greater things in the years to come. Having opened their sound up in such interesting and inventive ways, they really could go anywhere with album number four.