Sunday, 29 November 2020

Buck Theorem videos for songs

 Here are two videos I made to accompany my album "Breakfast in Exodus". They are both Covid compliant: masked up and no crowds. These are for "For You, I Go Ape,", and "Afterward, in the Afterlife".

Sunday, 22 November 2020

'Black Peter' and slice-of-life

Black Peter - Cerný Petr

Milos Corman

1964, black& white, Czechoslovakia

Writers: Milos Forman & Jaroslav Papousek

Loose-limbed New Wave slice-of-life, Czech style. It’s about nothing-and- everything: about a hapless 17year-old starting out in the world of work and romance, and none too successfully. This age of uncertainty is captured wonderfully, without judgement, and often funny. There are truthful organic details such as Peter/Petr (Ladislav Jakim) being ever-so-slightly more confident with his own age-group but just sitting and absorbing his parent’s concern and hectoring, browbeaten. Every time he is with them it seems like an interrogation: they aren’t mean, just overbearing and old-fashioned and not understanding of their son’s underdeveloped sense of confidence and ability.

There’s subtle political context in the way Peter’s first job is employed/trained in a store to spy and inform on shoplifters – with his boss’ spin of “we’re just trying to educate our customers to themselves” quickly dissipating – and how even the painting of the Madonna is watching them at home. The parents hector and lecture because, probably, they just feel it’s their job, not aware they are giving away their own discontent. They aren’t really inspiring aspiration. Aside from the political allegory, overbearing parents are something any teen could understand. But Peter isn’t intending to rebel, just trying to fit in or do what is expected. Even Peter’s acquaintance, the boorish Cenda (Vladimir Pucholt), isn’t quite the bully and rebel he initially might seem to be, but as equally awkward and embarrassing as he is pushy. Hey, he even comes to give Peter his money back. He’s the light relief.

The slice-of-life sub-genre is easily dismissed as inferior to something more strident and obviously trying to say something. Not that they don’t have a point and themes, but I am defining these as films that are led more by incident than narrative; less defined and marred by tragedy than accentuating the incidental the trivial. I seem to be thinking slice-of-life as the lighter side of neo-realism’s trend towards the downbeat. It’s about tone, editing, a feel an intention. So ‘Kes’ qualifies more as neo-realism but ‘We the Animals’ is slice-of-life, with its elliptical editing and dreaminess, even though they are both tragic.  But the modest agenda of something like ‘Black Peter’, or ‘We are the Best’, or a litany of other coming-of-age dramas that don’t hold with clamorous character “journeys” holds their own considerable power as reflections of daily life; of capturing moments between all the vivid dramatics. ‘Jim Jarmusch excels at this, perhaps the slightest of his slice-of-life being ‘Paterson’ (a favourite: it tells acres about daily artists; Jarmusch is less reliable when doing genre narrative). Or you have the likes of Linklater’s ‘Before’ Trilogy, or indeed his ‘Boyhood’. An example like ‘Les Centre Cents Coups’ is an example where the New Wave condenses that slice-of-life lightness with neo-realist tragedy.

There’s a lot of flash-and-dazzle in the New Wave, but in ‘Black Peter’ Forman only allows for one obvious trick: a freeze-frame that can’t help but nod to the aforementioned ‘The 400 Blows’, but for different intent: here, it stops Peter’s father’s lecturing in his tracks, as if saying make-way-for-something-new, or is-that-all-you-have? Certainly, Peter looks up expectantly.

Forman keeps the tone low-key and unaffected, but like the work of Yasujirô Ozu, the understatement allows for themes to bubble under and captures a mundane truth of daily life that something more bombastic can’t ease in to. For example: I never was a Czech teen starting work in the Sixties, but I certainly related to the slightly rudderless stumbling into adulthood that starts with Peter’s slightly difficult road crossing. For example, the prolonged aimlessness of the scene at the dance is a highlight, a delight in its capturing adolescent navigation of awkwardness and bravado and expectation. This slice-of-life genre captures the universality of experience, its randomness, despite the specifics, however strong our proclivity to impose narratives.


Sunday, 15 November 2020

His House

Director & screenplay: Remi Weekes, 2020, UK

Story: Felicity Evans & Toby Venables 

‘His House’s distinction is in using the genre to give voice to the experience of those that are not usually heard, just derided, mistrusted and used as scapegoats. This has always been part of the genre, speaking for the outsiders, but this particularly socially-aware horror of course follows a welcome recent trend invested in the experiences of the Black community that seemingly follows the roads kicked open by Jordan Peele’s ‘Get Out’. Saw an IMDB comment saying that the scares are the greatest thing about horror films, but that surely does the typical, tired thing of reducing the genre to its  most superficial level: the social commentary and reflection the genre offers is so often overlooked or just ignored. Or the troubling emotional truths of ‘The Babadook’ or ‘The Relic’ (2020) are the kind evoked in a way only horror can provide. If jump-scares are all you came for, you’re missing out.

‘His House’ is the tale of a refugee couple escaping horrific circumstances and trying for asylum in England. When they reach those stark, unwelcoming shores, they are given a list of stringent rules that do not seem a life at all (no work; no friends; but you must prove you are assimilating) and a house – a big house, as everyone reminds them, seemingly with surprise and resentment as if they are undeserving. Microaggressions all present and active. And of course, it’s haunted but it’s far from the glamour of delipidated Gothic. Mostly cleaned out and barely furnished, it still has the feeling of a potential squat, situated in a bland, unappealing English street. Where they are is never specified, all to increase the feeling of being unmoored and kept in the dark. As CH Newell notes:

“What’s unique is how Weekes uses the Gothic to explore contemporary immigration issues, which makes for a memorable story, and shows how rich the horror genre can be when we make sure stories from all cultures make it to the screen.” 

It’s a depressing backdrop more at home in a social-realist drama. Bol (Sope Dirisu) wants to pin everything on their new home, to assimilate, to sing stupid football songs in the pub, to eat with cutlery, to forget the past. Rial (Wunmi Mosaku) isn’t able to do that. One of the most memorable moments is when she goes out, gets lost and sees some black kids, assumes they will be allies, only to learn it’s very different here. And then the alleyways of the estate turn into a homage to the maze of ‘The Shining’ (Weeke’s deliberate and effective homage). It’s in a moment like this where the melding of kitchen sink drama and horror tropes blend most effortlessly. Nothing is truly welcoming.

This is where casting Matt Smith as their case worker is a true asset: Smith has an aura that you can’t quite pin down; friendly and on-your-side one moment, but somewhat threatening and broken the next. This is why he made such an effective ‘Dr Who’: there’s something about him you can’t quite pin down. He has a way of making prosaic lines seem threatening. 

Dirisu is all energetic but desperate hope, his vulnerability and denial almost embarrassingly open. Warm but obviously troubled. Mosaku, by contrast, is all wisdom and acceptance, without being patronising. Integrity and worry. They provide a mesmerising performance chamber piece without overbearing the tone (this could easily convert to a play).

Everything is uncertain, but when the supernatural pays a visit to make sure their past can’t be dismissed, she especially knows exactly what it is. It is an apeth, a Sudese witch of guilt and revenge following from their homeland to terrorise them. It is not what haunts them that proves the mystery – which is typical of haunted houses – but the secret of how to traverse assimilation (what is it, even?). As noted, the film is very good on the microaggressions the Black community experience, of creating a system an atmosphere where the needy are kept pleading and in their place, where they can't win.

The film deftly maintains its balance of social issues, speaking to the humanity of refugees against a Hostile Environment, as it delves into its haunted house tropes. Like films such as ‘The Babadook’ , ‘Under the Shadow’ or ‘Get Out’, it wears its analogy on the surface,  and it guides and permeates everything; rooted in the zeitgeist but never forgoing its genre thrills. The social-realism may date a little given time, but its horror movie identity won’t.

Oh, ‘His House’ is likely to spook and scare you at times with its holes in the walls and open doorways. The first appearance made me jump; a central set-piece where the ghosts just seem to pile on is a highlight. And just when peaking with dramatic conflict, the film segues into revelations of the past, into steps-into-flashbacks; the kind that often feel a lazy means of exposition in many genre films but is smooth and fascinating here. For rather than just explaining the mystery, the flashback complicates this story further, opening up more themes, muddying waters. It feels narratively straightforward and superficially familiar, but it’s always introducing new nuances and this makes ‘His House’  increasingly dense and always intriguing. Even when Rial calls the Englishmen officials bored, it provides an alternate perspective on the other characters that assume their positions of superiority.

And then, as you think you may have it figured, it turns into a monster movie of sorts. Within its framework, ‘His House’ never rests. Its deftness of genre tropes and social issues only become fully apparent upon reflection. If perhaps the final declarations feel a little too on-the-nose, they are fully earned and feel true to the characters. It is the mystery of people and community that leads here rather than the supernatural, but it doesn’t skimp on the spooks either.

Saturday, 7 November 2020

"Breakfast in Exodus" - new Buck Theorem album

 So here is the album I have made & played during lockdown. My blurb for it is: A drift into apishness, flying pigs, the afterlife, stupidity, friends and darlings.

Thursday, 5 November 2020

Amusements: links of distraction

Interview by Andrew McLevy

Interview - I SEE YOU Director Adam Randall

interview by Eric Hillis

by Maitland McDonagh

Here's the latest album from my  pal, James Eastwood, with some dreamy guitar ambience.

Sunday, 1 November 2020

Brahms: The Boy II

 Brahms: The Boy II

Director: William Brent Bell

Writer: Stacey Menear

You know how the original ‘The Boy’ was distinguished because you thought you were watching THAT film, but actually it was THIS film? ‘Brahms: The Boy 2’ just goes, “Hey, let’s just do THAT film!” Therefore, it doesn’t demand anything from itself besides a tedious explanation  from a web site - which now replace libraries as the bane of horror mysteries - to shove away the distinction of the original. So, it’s a little disrespectful in that particular way sequels have. For two thirds, it is slick and intriguing with everything solid but unexceptional: the mother and son are trying to recover from the trauma of a violent burglary, and the son isn’t coping so well. And of course you have the "Paranoid Mother" trope. But the third act and revelations descend into silliness and no pleasing sleight-of-hand. It is disappointing coming from the same director and writer team of the original.