Is Hitchcock's Vertigo the Greatest Film of All Time?

Unless you've been living under a stone for the past few weeks you should have heard about this new development.  Citizen Kane is gone!

I've got an article up at The Hollywood News (here) about why Vertigo deserves its place at the top.

So movie goers ... do you agree?

Book Review: Family Album by Penelope Lively

‘Read some Penelope Lively!’ my friend insisted time and time again.  I must admit I did resist.  I’d recently decided I couldn’t stand Ian McEwan anymore and I was worried that another decidedly white middle class read might send me over the edge.  But when I found a copy of Family Album (Moon Tiger is my friend’s recommendation) in a charity shop in Wells it was clearly a message from the great bookseller in the cosmos.

Family Album (2009) charts the story of a Victorian (or Edwardian – it seems to vary) house; it’s a gargantuan structure with a myriad of floors and rooms (it actually has parlours!) and is called Allersmead (surely a better title?).  And in this house live the Harper family: mum Alison, dad Charles, kids Paul, Gina, Sandra, Katie, Roger and Clare, plus the au pair Ingrid.  Alison’s a real ‘70s homemaker – all shapeless smocks and hair buns, cooking like there’s no tomorrow, insistent on the importance of a happy family life.  The book starts with one of the older girls (Gina) and her trip back home with the new boyfriend who’s enchanted by this retro childhood home and Alison’s ideals.  But it soon becomes clear that Alison’s view of their Waltons-like existence doesn’t quite marry up with everyone else’s.

Coming from a single child family myself, some parts of their life did read a bit like a horror story to me.  The named mugs, the hordes of children on a treasure hunt, the enforced family picnics, the lack of privacy.  I started empathising with poor dad Charles, hiding in his study and keeping out of everyone’s way.  And then there’s the strange live-in au pair Ingrid who came over from Scandinavia in the sepia toned ‘70s, never to return.  Instead way past the time the kids have left (well most of them – the one failure, Paul, keeps on coming back) she’s still there, saying things like ‘I am thinking you would like a nice cup of tea now’.  Of course, there’s a mystery here.  We know this from the blurb on the back (‘and one particular devastating secret of which no one speaks…”) however you’ll guess it by page 30.  But here’s what Lively does so well – she reveals it early on too!  Phew.  I thought I was going to have to read the whole thing and act surprised at the end.  So this got me thinking – maybe it’s another secret – and there is one surrounding Charles…

Some parts of this read are a little clichéd.  I mean, the statuesque Scandinavian au pair with the long blonde hair, the protective earth mother and the distant father all seem familiar.  And despite the back cover’s tempting whiff of a hidden scandal there is no shocking revelation.  But what’s really compelling here is Lively’s style; she effortlessly segues between past and present, action and memory, and between characters.  One minute we’re listening to an omniscient narrator charting the history of the house before 1914, the next we’re in Alison, or Paul, or Gina’s psyche – sometimes in first, sometimes in third person.  But it never jars.  Instead we’re given a fluid exploration of family, memory and perception that’s always immensely readable.

Theatre Review: Danny Boyle's Frankenstein at the Curzon

Something’s stirring in the depths of the cinema…and it ain’t the remains of a sodden bag of cheesy nachos.  Ye gods, can it be…?  Surely not?  Oh no, no – IT’S ALIVE!!!!

Yes in case you hadn’t guessed I went to see Danny Boyle’s Frankenstein the other week.  I missed it on the stage but luckily for me it’s been filmed for National Theatre Live; a scheme that allows us to watch theatre productions in local cinemas.

Now first of all I have to say something about the cinema I saw this in.  I had a choice of all the local Odeons and Vues and Cineworlds, but I decided on the Curzon in Clevedon, North Somerset.  This is simply the most amazing cinema I’ve ever been to.  It first opened in 1912 and is one of the world’s oldest working cinemas.  It’s now owned and run by the local community and shows a mixture of new and classic films.  The inside is spectacular; it still has original (along with replica) Art Deco features throughout and you can even climb the stairs to see an exhibition about its history and visit the old projection room (I did wonder if I was supposed to be in there for a moment but I think it was okay!).  In the actual auditorium there’s an organ in front of the screen (my mum reliably informs me sometimes it’s played!) and a little kiosk that lights up and sells you snacks.

[the outside of the Curzon taken with Instagram]

So the Curzon seemed the appropriate venue to watch Frankenstein somehow, with its fusion of new and old – and Danny Boyle’s interpretation certainly takes Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel and, well, whacks the viewer round the face with it repeatedly.  Albeit in a good way!  The set is captivating – hundreds of flickering lights hang over a womb-like structure sat in the centre of the stage and a heartbeat starts to  reverberate…something is about to be born! The creature burst out of its motherless womb and emerges into the world: naked (well almost apart from a pair of pants), confused, terrified.  Not a daddy or mummy in sight.  And this is the angle Boyle’s production (and Dear’s script) takes; we start with the creature and his loneliness.  We’re forced to watch as he slides and struggles across the stage for surely a good ten minutes before the errant parent, Frankenstein, finally arrives only to drive his “son” away in revulsion.  I must admit I thought of Clive Barker’s Hellraiser at this point – you know, the bit when the skinless Frank newly back from hell pulls himself across the floor.

*** plot spoilers ahead!! ***

Of course this is a departure from Shelley’s novel where we only hear the creature’s voice in the centre, once he’s already started to torment his creator and murder those Frankenstein loves.  But with Boyle we sympathise immediately with the ‘wretch’ as we follow his miserable journey, spurned by pretty much everyone he meets from day one.  No wonder he descends into such a murderous rage.  But this change in structure makes for some interesting audience effects.  In Shelley’s novel we only get to know the creature once he’s murdered Frankenstein’s younger brother William; we find out what the creature is capable of first but still come to love/forgive him.  However in Boyle’s production we witness more of a fall – we move from feeling empathy and sorrow for him to pure revulsion – it’s hard to continue to sympathise with a character who rapes then murders the one person (Elizabeth) who’s trying to help him.  Whoah – hold up.  This never happened – there was no funny business in the book!  Well yes, not exactly, but I do think it holds true to the text in essence at least.  The creepiest line in the novel has to be the creature’s veiled threat “I shall be with you on your wedding night” that he snarls when Frankenstein destroys the creature’s bride (and I love the fact Frankenstein doesn't even consider the threat to be directed at his new wife!  It's always ME, ME, ME with that inventor).  But Boyle’s interpretation is a logical one that works with the sexual implications of that line.  Still – it’s pretty uncomfortable viewing and nearly put me off my Maltesers.

The version I saw had Benedict Cumberbatch as Frankestein and Johnny Lee Miller as the monster – they swapped roles on consecutive nights.  The pairing really worked, and brought out the textual echoes between the two characters – the delicate relationship between master and slave – as we become unsure of who’s actually in control.  This relationship is drawn to its full extent in the final scenes as Frankenstein chases (well, drags himself along the ground) after his nemesis.  The monster seems to be in full control here.  In a topsy-turvy reflection of the birthing scene the creature now walks tall and pulls the strings as the creator scrabbles around on the floor.  But the creature still needs his creator – without each other they are nothing.  Everything else dear to both of them has been destroyed and they only live to torment/love each other.

One thing I really loved about this version is its sly sense of humour.  Despite the creature’s articulate use of language he uses a broken, halting, garbled pronunciation throughout – definitely a few laughs when he recited Milton word perfect.  Elizabeth is great too – she’s a much more forceful and solid character than in the novel.  When she asks to travel with Frankenstein and help with his studies he says she wouldn’t understand.  She retorts that it’s only because she’s been denied a proper education, what with being a woman and all.  However I would say the script’s a bit dodgy in places – especially in the beginning (“Piss off” yells a swarthy type at the creature.  It’s all for a gag later so the monster can echo it back to the old Delacey) and sometimes it verged on the edge of being a bit too self-aware and forced.

And the experience of watching theatre on screen at the cinema?  I can honestly say I didn’t feel distanced or unconnected at all.  In fact the varied use of other camera angles among the long shots allowed perhaps a better view than live at certain moments.

So this was a visual feast – dynamic, fast moving, shocking and true to the ethos of the novel.  Even if the dialogue was a bit cringe-worthy in places.

Theatre Review: Julius Caesar at the RSC 2012

Got a review up of the RSC's latest production of Julius Caesar over at The Hollywood News.  I loved this production; it was also televised a few weeks ago on the Beeb as part of their Shakespeare Unlocked season.  Not that I could watch it again as it clashed with a certain England football match...

Kissing Frankenstein and Other Stories

Introducing the Flash-Fiction South-West Anthology Kissing Frankenstein and Other Stories.

Featuring a collection of teeny tiny flash fiction stories from all over the south west of the UK in celebration of Flash Fiction Day 2012.

I'm really excited to have one of my stories 'Little Bug' in here! You can buy it here as a printed book and I believe a Kindle edition will be following.

Definitely looking forward to getting this and reading through all the other flashes :)

Film Review: True Grit

I finally got round to watching the Coen Brothers' True Grit (2010).  You probably know there's a late '60s version with John Wayne starring as the anti-hero Rooster Cogburn.  You probably also know it's based on a novel by Charles Portis (no I haven't read it).  To be honest you've probably already seen it anyway.

Well it ticks all the appropriate Western boxes.  It has "sepia tones".  It has a grizzly boozy Marshal on the fringes of society, although I'm not really sure why he would so easily throw down his life to rescue the precocious and slightly weird Mattie Ross by the end of the film.  This may have had something to do with my only being able to understand every fifth word Jeff Bridges said.  I probably missed some important plot development there.

Reading 2012

A Game of Thrones - George R R Martin (loved it!)

Children of Men - PD James (I was expecting to love it, but found it strangely disappointing)

Of Mice and Men - Steinbeck (can't believe I hadn't read this before. Bit miserable ain't it? Dead mice, dead dogs, dead puppies, dead women...)

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (a re-read for work)

A View from the Bridge - Arthur Miller (another re-read for work)

A Clash of Kings - George RR Martin (I still love it!)

Notes on a Scandal - Zoe Heller (enjoyed this)

No Country for Old Men - Cormac McCarthy (cinematic prose)

Night of the Iguana - Tennessee Williams (sultry, seedy and um, lizardy)

A Storm of Swords - George RR Martin (I was reading this for bloody weeks. Need a break!)

White Oleander - Janet Fitch (don't be sucked in by the poetic prose - it's just chick lit)

Home - Toni Morrison (a bit underwhelming)

We Need to Talk About Kevin - Lionel Shriver (pretty dire)

The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks (a re-read. Enjoyable but typical Banks - great premise and build up but shame about the ending)

As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner (absolutely brilliant)

Even the Dogs - Jon McGregor (weirdly I read this after As I Lay Dying - which it's directly influenced by. I quite enjoyed a lot of it, but sometimes it seemed a bit forced)

Brick Lane - Monica Ali (couldn't finish it. Page 178).

The Song of Achilles - Madeleine Miller (essentially a romance genre novel wrapped up in a bit of Homer. Quite disposable)

Oedipus the King - Sophocles, trans. Robert Bagg (a more modern translation. Jarred in a few places. I'd also prefer a bit more gloomy melancholia)

Just My Type: A Book about Fonts - Simon Gafield (loved it! Who doesn't love a good font/typeface?)

The Penelopiad - Margaret Atwood (quite fun but a little forced in places)

Much Ado About Nothing (a re-read for work)

The Lacuna - Barabara Kingsolver (I found this a bit of a drag in places but some of the American history was quite interesting - McCarthy era red witch-hunts)

A Feast for Crows - George R R Martin (a bit slow in places and missing loads of characters.  Definitely the weakest of the bunch so far)

Family Album - Penelope Lively (my first by her. Terribly middle class but quite enjoyable. Not sure there really was an awful dark family secret though)

The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood (a re-read. She's still one of my favourite writers)

22.11.63 - Stephen King (seriously is this for real? YAWN)

The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins (yeah this was quite fun)

Revolutionary Road - Richard Yates (despite some really moving parts didn't grab me as much as I thought it would)