Jurassic World - Roar but no awe

SPOILERS OF COURSE FOLLOW

Jurassic World is the fourth instalment in the series which began way back in 1993. As much reboot as direct sequel, it once again tells the story of a dinosaur-filled theme park gone awry. This time however the park is open, operational and filled with 20,000 prey guests. Man of the moment Chris Pratt stars alongside Bryce Dallas Howard.

Jurassic World is breezy and entertaining. It drips in nostalgia. Yet for all its aping of the first film, for all its sly references and call-backs, there is a fundamental void at the heart of it. There is no place for what was a key ingredient in the original – wonder.

It was not the idea of a tourist-thronged theme park that excited us in Jurassic Park [1]. It was the dinosaurs. The film treated them respectfully and the audience responded. Yet Jurassic World seems more interested in its monorail than its ancient inhabitants. Tellingly, the classic John Williams theme is deployed most notably not to revel in the majesty of extinct creatures reborn, but to show off a frankly tacky theme park. It kicks in when the boy is travelling up an escalator.

Because dinosaurs are boring now, we are repeatedly told. Yes, this is a winking reference to audiences apparently demanding bigger and bigger sequels. But how are we meant to feel about the creatures when the film treats them with such disregard? When the newly created Indominus Rex is slaughtering herbivores, the film reaches for emotional impact. A character even cries. But the film has spent the previous hour telling us how boring dinosaurs are, never letting us feel their raw power and majesty. So it is difficult to empathise with the characters’ grief.

Raptor Whisperer

This is not the only time an emotional beat falls flat. Time and time again the film forces moments it has not earned. One occasion sees the two boys leap into a waterfall to avoid the jaws of the Indominus Rex chasing them. Afterwards the elder brother exclaims in amazement that the little boy managed to jump. The pair laugh, seemingly bonding over this moment. Yet at no point has the film suggested the boy especially timid or scared of heights; it is a staging point on a journey we did not know we were on.

Nearer to the finale, we then have a kiss between the two leads. It wants to be an exclamation mark, the inevitable explosion of feelings developed organically over the course of the story.  But the film fails to do that groundwork. Their kiss instead is more of a semi-colon; awkward looking and little understood. Because the film has not earned the moment. Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) essentially remains the same one note, not-so-borderline sexist depiction of a woman she always was [2]. And Owen (Chris Pratt) remains hunky Raptor A-Team man throughout. Sure, they are two good-looking people experiencing danger together but that is not enough for a believable romance to blossom.

Not pictured - believable romance

These are pay-offs without set-ups. Shorn of meaning in this way they only serve to lever open divides between characters and audience – if we cannot understand their actions we cannot empathise. And without empathy, the story is reduced to mere spectacle.

Not that the spectacle is entirely effective either.

Oh there are explosions and some good shocks. But each major sequence in this film only makes you realise what a master Spielberg is and just how much he brought to the material in the first two films. Even the imperfect The Lost World has wonder, action and suspense far excelling anything found in this film [3]. Think of the attack on the trailers by the two Tyrannosaurs. Or the raptors in the long grass. Each sequence masterfully built and delivered. Jurassic World however features no such memorable moments.

Its sequences are undermined by inconsistencies in pacing and tone. On numerous occasions frightening beats are punctuated by a return to the control room, where the guy from New Girl is cracking funnies or awkwardly hitting on his co-worker. The control room in Jurassic Park was a tense workplace where people made life and death decisions. Too often in Jurassic World it is a forum for jokes. It is not that the gags aren’t funny – the audience in my cinema laughed – but for me it is the timing of their deployment that is problematic. In suspense films, lighter moments act as pressure valves and can be enormously effective. But hit that valve too often and the pressure never builds in the first place. That is the case in Jurassic World.

Much like its main attraction the Indominus Rex then, Jurassic World is bigger and flashier than its forebears. But there is something unconvincing about it. And I’m not just talking about CGI [4]. This is a film with bite but no soul.

---

[1] Jurassic Park was never going to be a theme park in the Disney-mode anyway – it was a highly exclusive luxury resort with dinosaurs. A great part of the film's appeal for me was that it was secret, hidden away so much that you could almost convince yourself could be happening, or have happened already.

[2] Much more has been written about this elsewhere. But it is troubling nevertheless and a strange misstep for a modern film.

[3] That being said, I still think Spielberg damaged the series forever with his San Diego ending to the second film. It required subsequent films to exist in a world with widespread public knowledge of the existence of dinosaurs. The sense of mystery, of disbelief-suspending secrecy, was lost.

[4] Isn’t it amazing how well the CGI from Jurassic Park stands up today? Some scenes look dodgy but the combination of practical and computer effect sold the existence of dinosaurs and the park so much more convincingly than Jurassic World.

FURY - Stuck in the mud

Why do we tell historical stories? Why do they interest us? As someone whose favourite films are often historical ones, it is a question I wrestle with a lot.

Of course, no small part is the thrill of exploring another world, strange yet familiar, of us but not our own. That recreation of sights now lost, of people, ideas and technologies faded to dust can certainly be enthralling. But the best and most successful historical films transcend mere spectacle. The characters and situations depicted in them engage with contemporary trends and concerns. It seems paradoxical but it is through this very modernity that the past in these films is rendered the more vivid and convincing.

Without it, we are left asking - why this story, why this production, and why now?

And that brings me to FURY. As ever, SPOILERS follow.



FURY tells the story of an American tank crew in the dying days of the Second World War. At first glance, this seems fertile ground for a story; it contains that oft-suggested ideal mix of old and new. It concentrates on the less-dramatised end of a well-known war and provides a new point of view on familiar battles. You can almost hear the pitch - the claustrophobia of Das Boot with the visceral, exciting action of Saving Private Ryan.

And some things it does very well indeed.

There is a fantastic texture to this film. You can almost feel the dirt beneath your nails, the diesel fumes in your nostrils, the gun-smoke at your eyes. Mud and gore coat the roads, while in the taut, jarringly violent action scenes, you truly feel the force of these metal monsters as tracer bullets scorch the sky and cannon-fire roils the earth.

This is a world defined by beasts of battle, both old and new. The opening shot sees a man ride in horseback towards camera and through what seems to be a graveyard of American tanks. But it soon becomes clear not all the mechanical beasts are dead. The scene ends with a moment of sudden violence and the curt dismissal of the now riderless horse. It was a flesh-and-blood creature that brought us into the scene, but it is a tank that carries us out. The message could not be clearer or more effective.

Unfortunately, for me, other elements in the film are less successful.

Despite the considerable time spent in their cramped fighting station, there is little depth to most of the tank crew beyond their dominant characteristics - the religious gunner, the experienced commander, the callow youth, the violent one, the Mexican driver. To be honest, I struggled to remember their names even while watching the film. Despite generally solid acting performances, the characters never felt real to me, the beats in their relationships rarely surprising as we have simply seen them too many times before. So derivative do they seem of characters in other films, so predictable at times are their interactions, it is difficult to care about them as individuals, fatally undermining our interest in their survival and by extension in the film itself.

The notable exception to these rather generic interactions comes when Pitt's character and his novice colleague (played by Logan Lerman) invade the home of a German woman and her pretty young cousin. It is the film's most effective sequence, with a rare hint of tenderness on display in an otherwise unremittingly bleak picture. The encounter between erstwhile enemies is derailed however by the arrival of the rest of the tank crew, drunk and aggressive after the bloody taking of the town. Humming with barely suppressed sexual violence, the scenes are tenser and more compelling than any other in the film.

This morally intriguing interlude however proves precisely that; tank and film soon roll off to more battles and more bloodshed.

The climax of the film comes in a duel to the death between the crew's stranded tank and an entire battalion of the dreaded SS. Impressively staged though it certainly is, the battle has little impact beyond the visceral shock of bang and gruesome splatter. Despite brief efforts by the film to endow it with greater importance, we know this fight will make no difference to the outcome of the war. Germany has already lost; the only thing that can truly be at stake for the audience is the characters' lives. But, as established, we do not really know most of these men and thus cannot care when they die. The final battle reaches for the emotional deeps, for moments of powerful sacrifice and unlikely deliverance; but by the end the audience is less shedding tears than shrugging shoulders.

And that strikes at the question I came out of the cinema with.

Why? What is the point? What is this film telling us that is new? That war is grim? Nazis bad? That violence dehumanises? We have heard it all before.

FURY has much going for it. But it never addresses the crucial questions - why tell this story and why now? Without answers, this tank film is ultimately just a tin can with the same old ingredients.

And I'm back in the room!

I know you have all been out there waiting, clicking the blog again and again in the vain hope of a new post only to come away disappointed. My apologies. But I'm back now and I'll never leave you again.

It's been a busy year though (yikes, where does the time go?). Much of my time was spent on Raiders of the Lost Art, a drama-documentary series broadcast on the Yesterday Channel over the summer. For those who missed it (no I'll never forgive you), the series dealt with tales of lost, missing and stolen works of art - and I wrote the dramatic reconstructions.

As with any project, it came with its own particular challenges. I love historic settings for my stories. But I also enjoy the leeway "creative licence" allows the author of historical fiction. In this case however, that was far more limited and I was very much serving two masters - scenes had to work dramatically while not straying far from the documented truth of events. After all, this was a documentary, not a fully-fledged drama. Getting the balance right sometimes took a few drafts, but I think we just about got it in the end and I'm pleased with how the final project has turned out.

For a short time it is still available on catch up. Check it out!

But anyway.....

Seen any good films recently? 

Why THE WORLD'S END Didn't Quite Work For Me

Massive fan of Pegg and Wright. Loved Spaced. Loved the previous entries in the "Cornetto" trilogy.

So why didn't I like The World's End as much as I wanted to?

SPOILERS FOLLOW

Shaun of the Dead saw our heroes face off against a familiar foe - zombies. The undead of course are established genre monsters with a well-explored mythology and widely-understood modus operandi -- you get bitten, you become a zombie, you hunger for human flesh. Simple beasties with understandable aims, they create a clear conflict with any remaining humans who are understandably less keen on the prospect of becoming lunch.

Pegg and Wright took brilliant advantage of this previously established world and grafted a superior, distinctly British comedy on top. With The World's End, however, though sprinkling the film with their customary pop-culture references, the writers are effectively building a mythology of their own.

In The World's End our heroes' pub crawl is derailed not by booze but by robots. Only we're told they're not robots. Or maybe they are. They're like robots, but they're not. They are automatons who look like real people with blue blood and eggshell heads. And headlight eyes. Oh, and they want to turn you into a robot. Or they don't. If you're nice, if you keep your head down, they'll leave you alone. I think.

To what end they are doing all this however is frustratingly never clear.













Nevertheless, our heroes have their foe at last. The gang decide on the obvious course of action: continue the pub crawl.

Some of heroes get lost along the way of course. But, disappearing off-screen and unseen, what fate they suffer is again unclear and the snatched attempts to explain on the run never do the job. Without that understanding however there can be no stakes, no fear for survival of the others. Our heroes go from pint to pint, fighting foes who simply re-animate and return to the melee once they are defeated. They are the definition of disposable villains. No matter how well-shot, choreographed and entertaining the action may be in its own right (and it is), the scenes are rendered essentially meaningless as a result.

Eventually, however, our remaining heroes do make it to the last stop on their epic crawl. The World's End. The finale.

But what should see a climactic showdown between well-established opposing forces with clear aims and stakes of failure, is here mostly dedicated instead to exposition, to a final attempt to explain what on earth the point of it all was. It is in fact almost a literal deus ex machina with a god-like disembodied voice descending to wrap up the story. But despite (or even because of) this final barrage of exposition, the explanation never quite hangs together and cannot anyway mitigate problems with roots far earlier in the film.

Had we come into this last act with a clearer understanding of the aliens/robots' aims and methods -- had the plot work been done -- then more time could have be dedicated to what really mattered at this late stage: the story. As it is, Simon Pegg's final cathartic scenes feel forced rather than earned, tacked on rather than integral.

This all sounds damning; it is not really meant to be so. Despite its flaws, I did enjoy The World's End a great deal. The writers have lost none of their ability to craft witty dialogue. There are plenty of laughs and the film nails that certain wistful yearning for the past we can all recognise. But me being a big fan of their prior work, it cannot help going down in my book as a disappointment.

But hey! At least I got a screenwriting blog out of it. 

MAN OF STEEL - Tone deaf

I saw the new we-are-avoiding-calling-him-Superman-as-long-as-possible Superman film last night. Like many others, my expectations before the film's release had been high -- its cast and crew had pedigree and the trailers, drenched in stirring music and imagery, were highly effective.

Then release day came. And the rumblings of discontent could not be missed. It wasn't just from the fanboys. Many reviews were mixed, if not outright hostile.

Expectations duly lowered, in I went... (SPOILERS follow)

...and, in truth, probably enjoyed the film a little more as a result. If only I had done the same for The Phantom Menace.

Nevertheless Man of Steel remained an unsatisfying experience.

Why did it disappoint so? You could just say, "Well, it's not a great film" and, yes, there are some hokey moments¹, eye-rolling bits of meaningless dialogue². and plot-holes aplenty³ if you choose to look for them.

But there's something else at play. And it's do with the central character himself.

Superman...he's just a little bit silly, isn't he?

"He can fly! Yeah, and he's indestructible⁴! I know -- he's super-strong! Oh, oh, his eyes shoot lasers! Yeah! He's an alien, but..uhh, he looks just like us! And he gets his power from the sun somehow! Radiation, that'll do!"

This isn't a character, it is a child's power fantasy that got carried away.

Now, there are seemingly ridiculous premises to be found in many films. I'm not here to poo-poo the occasional stretch or imaginative leap -- it is amazing what an audience will go with after all. But ultimately the more of these unexplained and slightly daft ideas you cram into one story, the more difficult it becomes to maintain the audience's suspension of disbelief.

This is a particular problem for a "serious" take on the subject like Man of Steel.

Man of Steel is not a comic book concoction of zany characters and outlandish sets; it follows the Dark Knight trilogy handbook of grounded design and a recognisably adult world.

Yet this approach sets up a tonal clash at the heart of the film, the "sombreness" contrasting with the intrinsic shallowness and silliness of its main character (and his adversaries). An irreconcilable tension is felt throughout. Moments of dramatic depth in one scene are undercut in the next by the intrusion of characters like the dubiously-goateed Emperor Zurg General Zod, while the insistence on dour reality means the film-makers can never embrace the humour and fun that so endeared the original Richard Donner film to the public.

I was left with the overwhelming feeling of writers struggling against their material. They know Superman is a bit ridiculous⁵. Evidently keen to pull it in another direction, they tweaked some elements, removing, for instance, the belief-shattering notion that supposedly whip-sharp reporter Lois Lane could not notice the similarity between her colleague and the chap flying around in his underwear.

But I am not convinced they went far enough -- to make a serious Superman work perhaps more sacred Kryptonian cows needed to be slain. Would the fans have accepted that however⁶? And after all the changes had been made, would it even be Superman any more?

Man of Steel is by turns snigger-inducingly daft and yawn-inducingly pompous. It also looks spectacular, has some genuinely good acting performances and manages at times, despite it all, to entertain. Above all, however, the film reminded me of an important screenwriting truth, one not even the biggest budget can disprove -- a consistent tone, in which our characters and their actions fit the world in which we place them, is absolutely essential to an effective and enjoyable story.


Footnotes.
1. "The world's too big, mom!" Vomit.
2. "Evolution always wins!" What does that even mean!?
3. Why was Lois summoned onto Zod's ship again for example?
4. Yes, yes. Kryptonite, I know. But that is little more than a nasty allergic reaction to a clumsy plot device.
5. Come on, even his name sounds cheesy -- it's why the film avoids saying it so long.
6. Some are mighty peeved as it is -- "SUPERMAN DOESN'T KILL!"

The seductive and deadly peril of mystery

CONTAINS SPOILERS

I saw Prometheus the other night for the first time. Yes, I'm terribly late. What can I say? I was out of the country when it was released last summer and the mixed reviews rather put me off seeing it on my return.

It is a strange film in many ways. Absolutely beautiful to look at of course, as you would expect from Ridley Scott. A talented cast, with Fassbender in particular shining as creepy android David. And it has stayed with me since watching.

But then, I have always had a soft spot for ambitious failures. Not for me, that aloof perfection of the masterpiece. Heroic failure is so much more approachable. It is why my favourite computer game remains Trespasser, 1998's ludicrously ambitious -- and often plain ludicrous -- first person physics-them-up. The makers' reach exceeded their grasp¹. But there is something joyfully human in that shortcoming, in that gap between our dreams and our accomplishments. Ultimately the ambition to straddle that divide has driven human progress through the centuries.

And Prometheus certainly is ambitious, seeking to create a new mythology within the existing Alien world while grappling with complex themes such as faith, creation, life and death.

It just never quite pulls it off. The film leaves you dissatisfied, its tantalising promise unfulfilled.

There are several reasons for this², but I'd like to concentrate on just one -- its use of mystery.

Mystery is of course a powerful tool in our trade. I think every good script needs it. These mysteries can be big or small - why a plane crashed, or why a father resents his son - but they serve to draw an audience in. Presented with an effective unknown, with an intriguing question, they cannot help but theorise about potential answers. When used properly mystery transforms the audience from passive receptors to active participants in the drama.

This is especially important in the first acts of a script, when the heavy lifting of character, plot and world introduction can overwhelm. The treat of an answer promised but withheld sustains us through those pages, both as audiences and as authors.

The first half of Prometheus works fairly well in this regard. The film asks some intriguing questions and we are right there with the scientists in seeking the answers.

But there comes a time when any film must turn from asking "what-the-fuck-is-going on" to explaining "this-the-fuck-is-going-on". Especially in a "mainstream film" like Promethues, the audience expects it and will eventually demand it. But if mystery is simply piled on top of mystery, unexplained event on unexplained event, eventually the audience becomes restless. This is what happens in the second half of Prometheus.

Who were the Engineers? Why did they leave the map for us? What were they doing on this planet? What the fuck is that black goo? And why is space-underwear so weird?

We get no answers. Instead, the film-makers load yet more questions on top, as if the same story engines that had propelled the first half would satisfy in the second. Our heads spin with more unanswered questions.

Why did they want to destroy earth so long ago? Why does that one living Engineer want to complete the mission? What's wrong with Fifield's face? 

Coupled with sketchily explained or simply contradictory character actions³, the second half of the film almost collapses under the weight of this ever-growing mountain of mystery.

This robs the story of its emotional power. Moments such as the death of Dr. Holloway lack all impact -- we do not really know what is happening or why David poisoned him, with the entire process happening too quickly for even any visceral sense of mounting horror to develop⁴. The grand finale, meanwhile, is reduced to mere spectacle, the stakes unclear, the sacrifice of the ship's captain utterly unexplained and utterly hollow as a result.

I recognise that, in taking on these Big Ideas, Prometheus has not set itself an easy task. Of course, philosophical questions of creation and the meaning of life are too grand, too complex to expect a Hollywood film to answer in a neat bow in 120 minutes. And I don't think the audience would have expected any such resolution. But plenty of questions raised in the film were within the film-makers' power to answer and, I believe, should have been.

There were other problems with Prometheus, but they are minor ones in comparison with this failure. It reminds us of an important lesson in screenwriting -- mysteries are certainly powerful story tools but they must be used correctly, for they contain an implicit deal with the audience. We say to them, "You will find out the answer, and I promise it will be clever, interesting and unexpected...but I'm going to need you to watch this first."

With Prometheus, the audience kept their side of the bargain. The film-makers did not.

FOOTNOTES
1. This is not a tortured joke about the game's famous arm interface.
2. Unattractive and under-developed characters, clumsy exposition, on-the-nose dialogue and inconsistent or unexplained character motivation all let the side down at various points.
3. I am not the first to note this by any means, but the secondary characters Fifield and Millburn particularly suffer from this incoherence. The former declares himself either a money-obsessed mercenary, or a geologist there for the love of rocks depending on the scene, yet his actions never seem informed by either of these traits. The latter meanwhile is a biologist who in one scene sees no interest in the first ever discovery of alien life, and then just a little later in the film fearlessly grapples with a clearly dangerous squid thing with predictably disastrous results.
4. Besides, the guy was kind of a dick anyway. Who really cared when he died?

Margaret Thatcher and the Power of Myth

I was out at dinner last night with perhaps the one man in the country who had not heard that Margaret Thatcher had died. The group had managed to avoid the inevitable discussion until then, distracted by the complexities of the Chinese menu and the terrifying presence of the waitress watching our every move. I was relieved. It was not a conversation I had particularly wanted. It was a pleasant evening. We all have different political views. Why spoil it?

We managed to hurry the conversation on without incident, but it got me thinking about old Maggie and the reaction to her death. The media wheeling out their long prepared obits and pull-out specials. The children on Twitter asking “Lulz, whose this Tatcher?” The paeans of praise from the right. And of course the vitriol from certain quarters of the left.

In some parts of the country they held parties to celebrate the death of a frail 87 year old grandmother who left office nearly a quarter of a century ago. Classless, petty and demeaning, of course, but hardly unexpected. What I have always found interesting when it comes to Thatcher is that some of those expressing the strongest opinions were barely alive during her premiership. Many are the children of comfortably well-off middle-class families. Where does this deep well of hatred spring from?

Perhaps they were particularly engaged toddlers, imbibing Marx with their mother’s milk.

Or perhaps there is more to it. I don’t much like Gordon Brown. I think he did enormous, lasting damage to the country and was not a particularly pleasant man to boot. But I won’t be dancing a jig when he dies.

This Thatcher hatred goes far beyond her policies.

“Ding dong, the witch is dead”

We cannot escape the obvious. The character of that hatred is defined by her sex. They call her “hag”, “bitch” and worse beside. What makes some left-wing activists, self-described feminists, scourges of misogyny and the imperial patriarchy worldwide pour such scorn on the first female Prime Minister of the United Kingdom?

Part of the answer I believes lies in the power of mythology, especially on the young.

For them, Thatcher is not just a politician vehemently disagreed with. She is the wicked witch. She has been transformed from a flawed human being into a caricature, a fairy-tale villain. A mythic archetype of the evil mother.

And myths are powerful, almost primal things, as we story-tellers who have read our Joseph Campbell know. Myths play a crucial role in the development and continuation of a society. But they can also shortcut the critical mind, engaging instead on another, alluringly primitive level. This has destructive potential.

Perceived and entirely imagined crimes are laid at Thatcher’s feet. To some, it seems she is guilty of sweeping a post-war collective utopia aside and replacing it with a hard-nosed world of walk on by. It is easy – and downright fun – to hurl abuse at her. She has acquired the comfortable aura of myth. She is barely human. Easier to revile, easier to attack.

In fact, many of those toasting Thatcher’s demise seem to have no deeper an engagement with her than they have with the Evil Step-Mother in Snow White. It is a reflex, a knee-jerk of disdain, a panto boo of a reaction.

The right is guilty too of course in its own way. To many in the Conservative Party, Thatcher is the paragon of all virtue, the Iron Lady, the titan which the current political crop can only fail to match. She is the mythic perfect leader of pure ideology.

This happy mythologising essentially forgoes any messy and turgid discussion of the time’s wider political and economic context, of human error or feeling. Lost among it is the remarkable, flawed and, yes, human figure, who inherited a dire mess of a country, made hard choices, made mistakes certainly, and yet changed Britain profoundly.

This myopia is dangerous. Unambiguous, unthinking hatred satisfies but is an ultimately corrosive force. Margaret Thatcher the woman is dead. But in truth she had long since decoupled from Margaret Thatcher the Myth. Perhaps her death will eventually herald a more thoughtful, genuine engagement with her eleven years as Prime Minister. But somehow, I get the feeling that alluring myth may stick around a while yet. 

Les Miserables/Don Downinthedumps/Tony Terriblysads

I went along to the cinema last night with the girlfriend to see the film version of the English adaptation of the French musical of the 19th Century novel by Victor Hugo.

From a screenwriting perspective it is a little difficult to know what to take from it. I have not seen the stage version nor read the novel. Presumably work had to be done to transfer it from the stage; the excellent William Nicholson (among others) wrote the screenplay and it suffers few obvious ill-effects in its pacing from the adaptation (some film versions of musicals have a glaring "intermission" point that brings the story to a juddering halt). But musicals are sort of a class apart, aren't they? Characters singing their every thought and feeling, often in rhyme. Subtle it ain't.

I did learn a few things though.

• A revolution based mainly on enthusiastic chair-stacking is probably not sustainable.
• The boulanger-lobby in 19th Century France was practically running the place if the authorities' attitude to bread-theft is anything to go by.
• The costume designer must have hated Amanda Seyfried. That's the only explanation for those bonnets.

*vrooooom* *vroooooom* (lightsabre noises)

Yes, the truth is finally out. The veil drawn back. The secret has been revealed.

JJ stands for Jar Jar.

By now I'm sure you've all heard the announcement that Star Trek supremo JJ Abrams is jumping (star)ship to direct the latest adventures of intergalactic rabbit Binks and his merry band. So what are we to make of the news?

I'm a massive Star Wars fan. It was probably the first film that fired my imagination as a child. I remember getting up before school when I was about eight to re-watch The Empire Strikes Back for the hundredth time. Yep, I was a pretty cool eight year old.

So naturally, I'm excited at the prospect of Star Wars returning to the big screen after an absence of ten years. But then I was excited about the prequels too and we all know what disappointments they turned out to be (though I heard about those through a magazine...ahh the pre-internet days). I must confess that for a long time -- too long perhaps -- I was an apologist for the new trilogy, trying to explain away the aching gap between my hopes and the more disappointing reality. As the years have gone by, time has allowed my disappointment to register itself without the fanboy inside me censoring it. I watch the brilliant Red Letter Media reviews and nod along with almost every point (if you haven't watched them, go do it now. They're insightful and fucking hilariously twisted). Nevertheless, despite their evident shortcomings, I still believe there is more merit in the prequels than is sometimes allowed. Yes, the prequels' scripts come across as early drafts in need of a great deal of work, but there are clever and unexpected ideas in there, some brilliant imaginative flourishes. The films are disappointments, but the world is too rich and enjoyable for them to be entirely without worth.

What then of the Disney buy-out and the newly announced sequels? Despite initial surprise and scepticism about the deal (money, money, money), many of my early doubts have been assuaged by the personnel chosen to take the project forward. Most importantly, the writer selected is simply brilliant. Michael Arndt has admired, analysed and even taught Star Wars for decades, as well as writing the wonderful Little Miss Sunshine and Toy Story 3. I cannot think of a better choice. The fact that "consultants" on the film include original trilogy writer Lawrence Kasdan, as well as George Lucas, fills me with hope that finally Star Wars will return to the big screen with a story worthy of the name.

But mystery surrounded the director's chair. Who would get the nod? A young director, like the George Lucas of 1977? Or a left-field but ultimately brilliant choice like The Empire Strikes Back's Irvin Kershner? In the end, you could say Lucasfilm has played it safe. They've gone to a big name. But that by no means makes it a bad choice. Abrams has pedigree in melding exciting sci-fi action with likeable characters and witty direction. He has shown he has the much-needed bottle to take on an established franchise and an army of often cranky fans. But most importantly of all, he makes damned enjoyable films.

I shall follow his progress with great interest. Star Wars is back.

Get in.

Adaptation and the Hobbit

My last post on The Hobbit got me thinking. The process of adaptation is a tricky one, isn't it? While the existence of a novel, say, gives some advantages in terms of "prepared" characters and plot, in other ways adaptation is probably a more difficult task than writing your own material. Those difficulties arguably multiply if the book being adapted is a beloved and/or acclaimed title. For throughout the process of adaptation you must serve two masters -- doing justice to the book to avoid the pitchforks of angry fans, whilst at the same time crafting a film that is effective in the new medium for all viewers.

Those twin masters will occasionally make seemingly contradictory demands. How does the adaptor approach what might be considered narrative failures in the source material? Maintain them for fidelity's sake or correct them for the film's? The ideal of course is to find some middle way that improves the film experience for the majority whilst not pissing off the fan minority. That's no easy task.

Based on the evidence of the first film, in adapting The Hobbit, I think Peter Jackson's team erred too much on the side of respecting the source material. I remember from The Lord of the Rings DVD special features (I am a film geek), how the writers spoke about their more daring departures from the source text in earlier versions of the script and how as each iteration of the film developed, they moved closer to Tolkien. I wonder now whether that process was actually vital to the crafting of those films -- they first and foremost concentrated on writing them as films, before pulling back in places. Having gone through that process on the earlier films however, perhaps this time they didn't feel the need to pursue more radical surgery first.

That's pure supposition of course, but one does feel watching The Hobbit that the book's every comma has been considered for inclusion and that less attention has been given to the overall story experience. But perhaps that is always the danger when it comes to adapting beloved books that have had years to seep into the public conscience.

By contrast less established books do not offer such problems. Michael Crichton's novel Jurassic Park, for instance, was optioned before it was even released and though a best-seller, it had hardly reached cult untouchable status by the time the film was released. It was in some ways perfect for adaptation, possessing a killer concept and some memorable set-pieces, but not so well-established that the many changes the film had to make would be greatly resisted.

I have read an earlier draft of Jurassic Park which stuck much more rigidly to the book's rather convoluted structure. The presence of this "additional" material however leaves the script feeling rushed as it jolts from plot point to plot point without any sense of the wonder that the novel and finished film conveyed so well. In sticking closely to the book that draft of the script in fact delivered an experience far removed from it.

True fidelity to source material, if that is your aim (some adaptations are more daring in this regard than others), comes in recreating the emotions and experiences felt reading the book, not in transliterating page by page to the screen. The exact mechanics of how those feelings are achieved -- the plot and cast composition etc -- can, and arguably must, change to suit the different media. Ironically enough, when an adaptation fails the audience often blames it on the film's divergence from source material -- I would argue that often the reverse is true, that not enough has been changed.

The Hobbit - Missing the wood for the Ents

The Hobbit's predecessor/sequel (damn this prequel confusion) The Fellowship of the Ring was an exciting and elegant introduction to the world of Middle Earth and the story of the One Ring. It had a host of memorable characters, suspense-filled action and a genuinely moving finale. It was brilliant.

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey has none of these things.

Despite my low expectations, The Hobbit still disappoints with erratic pacing, impenetrable exposition and kinetic, confusing action.

Spoilers, of course, follow.

The Fellowship of the Indistinguishable

The Fellowship of the Ring benefited from a steady introduction to the company's number. Frodo and Sam set off and soon acquire fellow hobbits Merry and Pip. The rest of the group join them at Rivendell. This incremental approach allowed the story to get started relatively quickly, and for characters and relationships to be established before more additions were made to the group.

In The Hobbit however, the audience meet the entire band of dwarves almost all at once, with the bulk of them of them literally falling through Bilbo's door in a heap. Unfortunately many of them never escape that figurative heap o'dwarves. At the film's disappointingly cheesy ending, I was still spotting members of the company and thinking, "Gosh, I don't think I've seen that particular follically endowed, vertically challenged chap before."

A long dinner sequence follows their first appearance (with two songs for crying out loud!), but such is the dwarves' number and the speed with which they are introduced that it is near impossible -- despite the film-makers' best efforts -- for the audience to appreciate their individual characters and the relationships between them. This robs the adventure that follows of the required sense of danger and purpose -- it is difficult after all to care about the desires and fates of characters you have barely met.

To be fair to the film-makers, the original source material put them in an unenviable position. No modern film would countenance so many similar characters. When a film requires one character to count up others not once but twice during its running time it is surely a sign that there is a problem. But what could they do? Cut dwarves? Kill some off sooner? A braver adaptation may have done. Behind each of Gandalf's tallies you can almost hear the exasperated voice of the film-maker crying, "Yes! We know, too many dwarves!"

The Two Tones...and other problems

Without the time to give proper scenes to every dwarf, Jackson et al valiantly try to distinguish the band through character design. Each dwarf sports a unique blend of beard and hair, accent and age, weaponry and weight. Yet there are still thirteen of the little bastards (I think? Were there more? You see the problem? I just don't know).

Increasingly cartoonish character designs are embraced to mark one from another. But this clashes with the relatively "grounded" Middle Earth previously established, undermining the richness and consistency of that world by doing so. I watched The Lord of the Rings and could escape into a fully formed fantasy world. That consistency of tone acted as a shield, defending the more mockable story elements from audience mirth. But when that is broken by jarring juxtaposition or uncertainty of tone, the illusion is destroyed and escapism becomes impossible. I never engaged with The Hobbit as I never believed those characters could have existed in that world. Further alienation from the story inevitably followed.

And what of the story?

The dwarves certainly have a clear aim -- to recover their homeland from Smaug the dragon -- but that alone cannot sustain dramatic momentum at this early stage of the story. It is simply too far in the distance.

The Lord of the Rings faced a similar problem of course -- Frodo had a long walk ahead of him to deliver the ring to Mount Doom. However, even when that eventual aim was still half Middle Earth and two films away, the main characters always had a current goal to pursue -- beat the Black Riders to the ferry, reach Bree, cross the mines of Moria etc. There were genuine risks and serious stakes of failure -- each of these staging posts gave the films momentum. Crucially the audience could also see the connection between these mini-aims and the overall quest -- these were no random diversions but obstacles that had to be overcome.

By contrast, The Hobbit meanders. Its on-the-road episodes (some inserted from elsewhere in Tolkien lore) do not so much propel the story forward as bog it down -- they have little connection to the overall narrative, while the characters stumble in and out of danger without any sense that escape has brought them any closer to their overall aim. Not that they are ever in danger. Despite their number it is apparently forbidden that any dwarf be harmed in the making of this film. This saps the action scenes of any suspense, no matter how impressively choreographed those sequences may be. (How to design a meaningless scene -- have characters you don't know or care about performing outlandish actions whose purpose is unclear, facing hordes of disposable bad guys, with no apparent risk of death whatsoever. Welcome to the goblins underground scene!)

Iconic though the scene with the trolls is, for example, it never feels more than a temporary diversion, an inserted "adventure" scene designed to keep the audience from getting bored. Although Bilbo does try to manufacture an escape, the group must still rely on the convenient reappearance of Gandalf at a crucial moment to survive. Sadly this is not the only time a sudden deus ex machina appears to save the day -- the finale of the entire film turns on the appearance of giant eagles, their imminent arrival sucking any sense of danger from the preceding scene.

Compared to the Fellowship of the Ring, by the end of the first part of The Hobbit we have barely begun our journey it seems. Think back on the 2001 film. Think how much had happened by the end of the film. The fall of Gandalf. The death of Boromir. The emergence of Aragorn as a leader. The breaking of the fellowship. But here? Umm. They are a bit closer to the Misty Mountain.

That's it.

The Return of the King

Actually I tell a lie. Some things do change. The film-makers make a stab at significance with the arc in the relationship between Bilbo and the leader of the dwarves, with the latter banishing his doubts of the former with a big manly dwarvy hug. But it feels forced, tacked on to give purpose to the end of the film. 

This is a shame because it detracts from the more effective arc to Bilbo's character that does exist. Through the story he learns or proves the skills he will need in the fight to come -- cunning (in facing down the trolls), thievery (in stealing the ring) and bravery (in his attack on the pale orc in the finale).

Martin Freeman is a delight to watch and the picture noticeably sags when he is lost among the dwarf-schtick or shunted off-screen by the makers' obsession with stuffing every last word from every Tolkien appendix into the film. In reaching for significance and resonance with the wider saga in this way, Bilbo's story is obscured. This is a shame, for in fact it is in his story alone that the connection to the Middle Earth of the previous films feels most believable. The irritating adventures of Radagast and the antics of Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, Groin, Bon, Ron and Tron are distractions. It is no coincidence that Freeman's scene with the brilliant Andy Serkis as Gollum is by far the film's best.

So overall The Hobbit goes down as a big disappointment in my book. Despite that, I know come next year I will still be lining up to see part two. Peter Jackson is a supremely talented film-maker, responsible for some of my favourite movies. I must have faith that he will build on the positives in this film (however hidden) and that he will deliver next time.

Here's hoping.

Character Introductions -- SPOILERS AND SWEARS ABOUND

Just thinking back on the first episode of what I believe is the Finest Television Show Ever Made - Deadwood. Sorry The Wire fans. If you haven't seen it, go away now, watch the all-too-limited three seasons, finish every episode by saying "how amazing is this?" and then feel bad about your own writing.

Done? Great. Welcome back. Bet you're glad you took those days off work to watch the FTSEM. Now you know I'm right we can crack on.

Because out of the many things Deadwood does extremely well, I just want to look today at a couple of the character introductions in the very first episode, written by David Milch. (NB I am going off the pilot screenplay dated 20th August 2002; there are some differences between this and what was eventually filmed).

Typical of a show that explores the murky swamps of morality, its very first scene introduces the sheriff Seth Bullock preparing to hang somebody. And he's the good guy.

Bullock faces off against a drunken gang of would-be lynchers and insists on carrying out the condemned man's sentence himself. All the while, his more level-headed best friend and business partner Sol Star tries to convince him to leave, reminding him of the riches that await them in Deadwood. It brilliantly set ups Bullock's key characteristics -- his stubbornness, his reverence for the law and his quick temper. More importantly, it reveals this character through immediate action.

That is the key lesson to be taken I think. Again and again Milch introduces us to his characters in the middle of active situations which allow those characters' characteristics and contradictions to be revealed to the audience dramatically and grippingly.

We see it again in the introduction of Calamity Jane. From her first line we are told, as if we needed reminding, that this is not the Calamity of the famous musical:

CALAMITY JANE (O.S.)

What a fucking circus!

Once again it is an active situation that introduces and reveals her character. Their wagon train has ground to a halt on the outskirts of Deadwood and Jane is frustrated. She's dressed like a man and swears like a trooper. She's prickly, belligerent and defensive, especially with her old friend Charlie Utter.

But then the script does something really clever. Straight away, it shows us a completely different side to Jane. Indeed, almost the complete opposite of the character we have just met.

After an expletive-laden antagonistic exchange with Utter she pops her head into the back of their wagon and explains the delay to the passenger lying there -- the legendary Wild Bill Hickok. Jane is in love with this man. It is unrequited of course. Hell, she doesn't even know what to say or how to act. She is meek, servile even, incongruously shy. She still swears of course -- she is still Jane -- but this is a completely different side to her character.

To reinforce the contrast, as soon as Jane moves away from Bill she is back to her old self--

CALAMITY JANE

It's only fucking Wild Bill Hickok you got stalled here in the muck, you ignorant fucking cunts.

Milch's introduction to this important character is simply brilliant. Having just met a Jane who is in many way an hilarious sweary boozy delight, he immediately adds another dimension to a character which otherwise might seem a little one-note. The interaction with Wild Bill shows us the vulnerable person beneath this aggressive mask and implies a whole history between them that we have not seen. Straight from the off we know we are not dealing with simple characters, but ones with depth and contradiction.

This is a useful technique we can use in our own writing - establishing the character a certain way in one aspect of their life such as their work, and then showing the character as quite the opposite in, say, their love life, or their family life. It is something Kubrick did in the script for the unmade Napoleon. There the great general's military acumen and successes are set against his utter failure as a lover, where he is outwitted and cuckolded by another.

But what sets Milch apart is the economy and grace with which these dimensions are explored in the very same scenes as the characters themselves are introduced.

If you haven't guessed it, I'm a fan.

Exploring "Atonement" Part 6

This week I have been posting edited extracts from an extended analysis I did a few years ago of Christopher Hampton's script ATONEMENT. 

Here is the final part, exploring some of the script's characters (spoilers, naturally, abound)

There Is No Briony

Who is Atonement's main character?

Despite the focus on them in the film's marketing and casting (see poster, left), Robbie and Cecilia remain slight characters.

At the beginning of the story it is clear that they are in love, but have not yet admitted this to each other. The reader however is none the wiser as to the reasons for this affection.

Their history as childhood friends and then contemporaries at Cambridge is hinted at initially¹ before being explained in a burst of exposition: ²

LEON

So Robbie the Housekeeper’s son, whose father did a bunk twenty years ago, gets a scholarship to the local grammar and the Old Man puts him through Cambridge; goes up at the same time as Cee and for three years she hardly speaks to him!

There is little else to lend depth to their characters or feelings aside from lingering glances, the sultry atmosphere of the Tallis estate in summer and the generic conventions of a love story.

Indeed, without the novel’s ability to peer behind that façade and understand any inner turmoil, the script is left with what appears to be a thinly characterised central couple. They have no real character arc or development to speak of. They are mostly acted upon rather than personally driving the plot forward.

So clearly we can see, though the commercial considerations we discussed previously may have required their romance be foregrounded, Cecilia and Robbie are not the script's protagonists.

That role belongs to Briony.

She is not initially an attractive character. The Briony we meet in the first act is a horror: selfishly forcing her cousins into performing in the play; demanding attention from all; spoilt and indulged by her mother.³ By the time of Robbie’s arrest, the audience is likely to despise the girl for her destructive lies and the self-righteous, wrong-headed justification of them.

While this loathing is a powerful form of audience engagement, moving through the script such an off-putting protagonist is unsustainable. Indeed, the story requires a level of empathy to be established with Briony by the end of the picture. So, when the script leaves the Tallis estate, a rehabilitation of Briony’s character in the eyes of the audience must begin.

Our first re-acquaintance with her character is thus significant.

When the audience next see her, Briony has been transformed from a manipulative child to a lowly nurse reprimanded for a minor offence by her superiors.⁴ It represents a massive status reversal for the character and is the first time the audience is encouraged to empathise with Briony - it is the first step in winning them back.

This continues throughout the hospital sequence. Briony trimming fellow nurse Fiona's fingernails illustrates not only her ability to make friends (implying that she is no longer such an unattractive person) but also the change in her attitude towards helping others. Earlier in the script, when asked to do something, Briony is wilfully disobedient⁵, but in this scene she gladly helps her friend. This transformation is highlighted cleverly through Fiona’s characterisation as a less reconstructed young lady (‘Mummy always did it for me.’⁶) not unlike the Briony who begins the screenplay.

Crucial to Briony's rehabilitation is her own admittance of guilt and implicit acceptance of the audience’s criticisms:⁷

BRIONY

It’s just...it’s about a young girl, a young and foolish girl, who sees something from her nursery window which she doesn’t understand, but she thinks she does...

Accompanying this confession are the attempts to atone, eventually directly to Robbie and Cecilia, but initially through service to others, such as the horribly injured Luc Cornet.⁸ This scene, one of the longest in the script, is crucial for creating audience empathy with Briony. In it, she is shown in the most harrowing circumstances kindly easing the pain of the Frenchman’s last moments. As he dies, she tells him sweetly, ‘Briony. Je m’appelle Briony’.

If the beginning of the hospital sequence saw the destruction of the Briony we knew (‘There is no Briony.’⁹), then this is the moment that she is reborn and embraced by the audience.

References
1. Briony asks why Cecilia no longer speaks with Robbie; Cecilia and Robbie discuss his future
(Hampton, Atonement, p. 5; p. 11)
2. Hampton, Atonement, p.17
3. Hampton, Atonement, p. 5; p. 2-3; p. 3
4. Hampton, Atonement, p. 66
5. Val Taylor, Stage Writing, A Practical Guide (The Crowood Press, 2002), p. 38-53
5.. Hampton, Atonement, p. 36
6. Hampton, Atonement, p. 67
7. Hampton, Atonement, p. 68
8. Hampton, Atonement, p. 73-8
9. Hampton, Atonement, p. 66

Exploring "Atonement" Part 5

Over the next week or so I'm posting edited extracts from an extended analysis I did a few years ago of Christopher Hampton's script ATONEMENT. 

Here is part five... (spoilers, naturally, abound)

Atonement and genre

Genre. It can get a bad name. The word seems to make some writers blanche -- my work can't be categorised, man! It is but a slip of the pen from that sin of sins "generic".

But if we are to understand why a film succeeds or fails an understanding of genre is vital. The occasionally mocked "script guru" Robert McKee has it right when he states, ‘from the title to the poster through print and TV ads, promotion seeks to fix the type of story in the mind of the audience’.¹ It is partly through this positioning that a script finds a home and film-makers an audience. But with it of course come conventions -- character types, plot devices and style that viewers will expect to feature in the film. Too great a deviation from these can be as damaging as an overly slavish and predictable adherence to the same.

Genre causes problems for Atonement.

Throughout its development there seems to have been a tension between the story that Atonement wishes to tell and the audience that it hoped to find on release.

We have already explored the script's unusual structure and literary themes. Indeed to my mind they are its greatest strengths. Yet, as Atonement's screenwriter Christopher Hampton admits - ‘a pretty, expensive art film about a writer and her very particular sufferings [...] might well seem a hard sell’.²

It is unsurprising then that the film's pre-release positioning presented it as a period romance. Robbie and Cecilia's story is simply a more attractive proposition to a larger audience and such a focus allowed the production to cast bigger names as its "leads".

To a certain extent, scripts such as Atonement require big name casting not only to be produced but also to find a large enough audience to make that production worthwhile. Briony's role is unsuitable to top billing. It spreads over a large age range and required several actors to play. A child actor capable of opening a movie on her star power alone would be a rare find. On the other hand, if it had been decided that the main starring role was to be the Briony of the Second World War, this would keep our lead off-screen until page sixty-four of a ninety-two page screenplay. No production is going to make such a decision. Hence the top billing going to Keira Knightly and James McAvoy as Cecilia and Robbie, characters present from the beginning and throughout the majority of the script.

So we are encouraged to view the story as a romance. We all know what to expect from a romance - a thrilling love threatened by mistakes, misunderstandings and antagonistic forces before a final reunifitcation at the end of the story. Certainly, Atonement fulfils some of these³. However, in other crucial respects, the generic expectations encouraged by the film's positioning are not entirely satisfied.

Again the film's ending plays a key role in this.

The sudden narrative shift destroys audience assumptions about the direction of the story and its possible outcomes. Much of the preceding narrative in which viewers have emotionally invested is suddenly revealed as false. Cecilia and Robbie both died far away from one another, without ever achieving that final unification.

This clash between the generic expectations set up by the script and the eventual outcome is bold. It risks alienating the audience, who will have engaged with the story on the assumption that it is operating within certain recognisable and desired frameworks.

Older Briony of course does attempt to give the couple -- and the audience -- their happy ending:⁴

She thinks for a moment.

OLDER BRIONY

I gave them their happiness.

EXT. BEACH BELOW WHITE CLIFFS. DAY.

ROBBIE and CECILIA crunch across the pebbles and splash gleefully through the waves, below the towering white cliffs on their way back to their white clapboard cottage.

With the knowledge gained in the previous scene, Briony's "happy ending" is bittersweet at best however.

As an attempt to fulfil genre expectations it was always doomed however, because, despite the marketing and the cast billing, this is not Robbie and Cecilia's story at all.

I'll explore this more next time.

References

1. Robert McKee, Story (Methuen, 1999), p. 90
2. Hampton, Atonement, p. vi

3. A beautiful couple, (one upper class, one lower - another classic trope of romance stories) whose incipient love is threatened by Briony and the Second World War.
4. Hampton, Atonement, p. 91-92

Exploring "Atonement" Part 4

Over the next week or so I'm posting edited extracts from an extended analysis I did a few years ago of Christopher Hampton's script ATONEMENT. 

Here is part four... (spoilers, naturally, abound)

Knowledge and Vision

The journey from false belief to knowledge is a vital aspect of Briony's character arc. The key moment which leads to the betrayal of Robbie and Cecilia is her misinterpretation of the fountain scene, where the assumed significance of those events is wildly at odds with reality. Over the course of the script, however, she gains knowledge of what really occurred:¹

OLDER BRIONY

I got first-hand accounts of all the events I didn’t personally witness, conditions in prison, the evacuation of Dunkirk, everything.

If we consider the structure of Atonement, this is a highly suitable theme.

Although it is hinted at, the audience is unlikely to be aware (unless they have read the novel!) of Briony's authorship of the narrative until it is revealed to them. They go through the majority of the script in an analogous position to Briony at the window, viewing events through a prism of certain assumptions.

One of the successes of the unusual structure of the script is that the audience are forced by the ending to confront their own ignorance – they can no longer position themselves at a comfortable and appalled distance from Briony's actions. Instead they are made complicit in the same error.

 References

1. Hampton, Atonement, p. 89

Some thoughts on SKYFALL

Spoilers. Obviously.

First, a confession -- I have never been the biggest Bond fan.

I know they are film "events" and I always do end up seeing them, but I don't follow their production with any great interest, nor do I count down the days until their release. The overblown plots, silly villains, its unchanging, unapologetic main character and questionable attitude to women all turn me off. Die Another Day was a low point and I would not have been overly disappointed had the series retired at that point. I just did not see what it offered modern audiences.

Of course, there was little chance of 007 hanging up his martini glass for good. If there is one thing to be said for the Bond series it is its constant potential for reinvention, untethered by concerns about matching inter-film chronology, tone, etc etc.

So I was open-minded about Casino Royale's "reboot" of the series and was pleasantly surprised by the result. It jettisoned so many of the flabby elements that had led the series astray. Gone were the outlandish villains with their ridiculous plans for world domination. As a character, Bond was accessible and believable as both a cold-hearted killer and a vulnerable human being. And although its finale disappointed, with the film fizzling out after the death of Le Chiffre, it was nevertheless an enjoyable return to form for the venerable series.

Its direct sequel Quantum of Solace I can barely remember to be honest, so I shan't dwell on that.

Which in a very roundabout way brings me on to Skyfall.

Back to the Future...

It has been a good year for British institutions. With the Royal Jubilee and the Olympics, 2012 has not been a time of national introspection but celebration, with the flag, Queen and Country embraced in a way not seen for a generation. As another "national treasue", Bond had to get in on the act, adding an appearance in the Olympic Opening Ceremony alongside the Queen to this, his 50th Anniversary film adventure.

So perhaps it is no surprise Skyfall sees a return to classic Bond features that Casino Royale so studiously avoided - Q and his gadgets, Moneypenny, a shaken not stirred Martini (even if the famous line itself was unspoken). In fact, such is the change it practically counts as a reboot of the Daniel Craig reboot.

A lot of it is great fun though. The thrilling opening sequence that sees Bond rollicking around Istanbul and mounting a train through the unusual medium of a JCB digger is a particular highlight. And it is doubtful that a Bond film has ever looked better.

By the film's end the traditional Bond elements are established, the final scene seeing Daniel Craig's character meet a new male M in his wood-panelled offices, with Moneypenny stationed at the door. It is almost as if Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace represent a penance paid by the film-maker to justify these potentially archaic features; only by stripping Bond down to his basics and then re-building might audiences learn to once again accept an old-fashioned 007.

Silva Lining

Javier Bardem has a ball in this film, chewing up scenery to just the right degree even while sporting a frankly distracting blond hair do. But if it is possible to look beyond those alarming locks, Silva is also a useful example of the importance of good character design in writing.

Delightfully foreign, flamboyant, and openly gay he is in many respects the exact opposite of stoically British, aggressively heterosexual lead. Yet he is of course also very similar to Bond. They have both worked for MI6, both operating in the shadows at the edges of morality and legality. In M, they share a "parent", one who has loved and mistreated them both. Much like Belloq to Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark, Silva is the dark inversion of James Bond and it is in the similarities as much as the differences between the characters that the film's most potent conflicts lie.

What I would have liked however is for Silva to have pushed his humiliation of M -- and by extension MI6 -- further. Obviously in many ways, his plot makes no sense, but to dwell on that is the preserve of pedants and saddos (so, you know, I've relegated it to the footnotes¹). But if we accept that his plan does make sense really and that his technological wizardry is such that he could kill M whenever he wants², then he must desire more than simply her death.

His true revenge is to see her brought low, for everything she has fought for to be questioned, her entire career's conduct doubted...and only then to destroy her. But the film short-cuts M's fall and never really explores the effects Silva's game has on her. Indeed, the villain's own actions cut her descent off, with his escape and failed assassination attempt interrupting a potentially pivotal appearance in front of the government committee.

For my money this robbed the finale and M's death of the much of the emotional heft it was reaching for.

Dial M for Mummy. And possibly Mortality too.

Making her seventh and final appearance as the Bond boss, it is perhaps fitting that Judi Dench's M gets more to work with this time than in her rather more limited "dole out exposition and look pissed off" roles of previous outings. Indeed, arguably she is the emotional and thematic heart of the film.

Ironically enough for a series with an essentially immortal hero, old age and death are among the prime concerns of Skyfall. Throughout the film M faces extinction. Firstly it is just her career, but in the final act she faces a rather more permanent sort. Intertwined with her struggles are those of Bond. Left for dead at the beginning of the film, he makes a recovery unprecedented since biblical days and eventually returns to MI6's bosom. But his rebirth is an unsuccessful one. He fails his tests and is only cleared for service by M's executive decision, a reflection of her own personal rage against the dying of the light. This folly has disastrous consequences for M and the rest of the security service -- by the end of the second act she and her favourite son are in flight with MI6 in disarray and Silva in the ascendency.

So following the classic three-act structure the final act has to pull our heroes back from the abyss. Thematically the ending is clever. Bond's earlier resurrection was a false one. Only in returning to the place of his birth can he be truly reborn³; a phoenix rising from the flames of his childhood home. An orphan already, he is orphaned once more following the death of M, his new mother dying in the place where his real parents are buried. Thus reborn, with his enemy vanquished, he is ready to rejoin MI6 as an accomplished operative, ready to serve Queen and Country once again.

Structurally then, the film ends on a strong note. In other ways though this third act disappointed.

The Torch. Seriously. The torch. Come on.

You're on the run through a dark Scottish wilderness. The bad guys are only yards away. You're hurt so you can't run fast, but you've got someone with you. Someone who knows the terrain. Someone who has just proved himself a mental Scottish badass with a shorn-off shotgun and shit. He won't let you down.

SO WHY USE THE BLOODY TORCH.

Go on, give it a good wave around. Don't bother concentrating on the ground, or pointing it away from Silva and his gun-wielding gang. No. Flail it all over the place. Make sure he can't miss it.

I realise that for the ending in the chapel Silva had to know where they had gone. But this attack of the stupids really annoyed me⁴. In fact, it was so obvious, so out of character, I just assumed it was a bait and switch, with maybe the old man valiantly making himself obvious to lead the bad guys away from M. But no. The head of the British Secret Service is really that stupid.

No wonder she lost the disc.

References

1. Why it was necessary for him to allow himself to be captured? Was it the only way he could get into the country? Surely a man of his means could get around the UK Border Police. His capture only seems to make life more difficult for himself. And isn't the whole "villain lets himself be captured" thing becoming a bit of a movie cliché these days anyway?
2. The movie trope of the computer as a magic box that can do anything (somehow cause explosion in M's office? What did he do, overclock her computer's CPU?) makes an irritating reappearance. I thought in these more technologically savvy days we were past such silliness.
3. The rumours have it that Sean Connery was asked to play the role taken by Albert Finney. I can understand to a certain extent -- Bond returning to the well and all that -- but I wonder how audiences would have reacted.
4. But then the entire act felt a little bit derivative, its action sterile and unoriginal. A shame really that its scene work didn't really match its structural and thematic strengths.

Exploring "Atonement" Part 3

Over the next week or so I'm posting edited extracts from an extended analysis I did a few years ago of Christopher Hampton's script ATONEMENT. 

Here is the third part, again concentrating on theme... (spoilers, naturally, abound)

The Mighty Lie

Fiction can hurt. Fiction can heal. Briony ruins Robbie and Cecilia's happiness with a fiction; she hopes to give it back through the same medium. Atonement is a meditation on the powers of a lie. Its very first scene hints at what is to come: ¹

CREDIT SEQUENCE

The SOUND of a typewriter, irregularly struck, now fluent, now creating an urgent rhythm that forms the percussive element of the opening score.

A doll’s house, in the form of the Tallis house, an enormous Victorian Gothic pile. The CAMERA moves from room to room, from the nursery and spare bedrooms on the second floor, to the main bedrooms on the first floor, where puppet versions of mother, daughter, son and baby sister are neatly ordered, to the ground floor with its library, drawing room, dining room and kitchen.

Finally the CAMERA moves to the hall through which a young gardener puppet wheels a wheelbarrow.

From the very first line of the script we are reminded that this is a fiction, something created, something written. The puppets - all major characters we are about to meet - belong to Briony. We are being told that she is in charge of what we are about to see, while the worrying reduction of life to a child's game hints at the disastrous events about to unfold.

Briony’s tales form the backbone of the scenes at the Tallis household. In the grotto², she writes of a princess, the black-hearted ‘Sir Romulus Turnball’ (Robbie Turner) and ‘the one with red hair’(Lola).³ Sadly for the other characters this is not the last time Briony melds fact with fiction. These early experiments pave the way to the false accusation of rape that so ruins Robbie and Cecilia's life. The power of fiction sweeps all before it with devastating effect.

When the script leaves the Tallis estate, Briony and her fiction may be triumphant but they are both villains. The rest of the script seeks the rehabilitation of them both.

Stories of different kinds fill the second act. The sequence in Northern France is punctuated by flashbacks to Briony’s childhood “fall” into the river (itself of course a fiction) as well as more recent meetings between Robbie and Cecilia in London. These form a sort of narrative - they are, as Robbie states, ‘our story’⁴. His accidental encounter with a cinema showing melancholy romance Quai des Brumes provides a subtle underscoring to this.⁵

Meanwhile, Briony's time as a nurse in London sees the eighteen-year old watch propaganda films in the hospital day room and spend her nights writing.⁶ But it is in her nursing of a dying French soldier that we see the first real rehabilitation of fiction. In this moving scene, Briony plays along with the man’s heart-breaking delusions, pretending to be his sweetheart to ease his final moments. The lie is an act of kindness.⁷ It is a milestone on fiction's journey from the malicious acts of Briony’s childhood towards the ultimate rewriting of history that sees the Older Briony give Robbie and Cecilia their happy ending.


References

1. Hampton, Atonement, p. 1
2. The location of this scene is significant, given that it is in the grotto that Briony will witness Lola’s “rape” and concoct the fiction of Robbie’s guilt.
3.  Hampton, Atonement, p. 22
4. Hampton, Atonement, p. 54
5. Hampton, Atonement, p. 59
6. Hampton, Atonement, p. 67-9 and p. 78
7. Hampton, Atonement, p. 73-8