Showing posts with label Film. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Film. Show all posts
I have a theory about James Bond which might prove unpopular with hardcore fans. This is that for a long time, the Broccolis have been quietly pulling off one of the boldest scams in motion picture history. By simply switching things around, they’ve managed to get away with remaking the same movie over and over again, for forty-six years. It’s a singular achievement, put into perspective by imagining how tiresome twenty-two versions of any other film would be. Jaws, for example. The Neverending Story, Part 22. By now, these film sagas wouldn't be playing to packed houses, they'd be direct-to-video bombs, featuring Z-list stars and occasional cameos from people who should know better. Like Malcolm McDowell or Mick Jagger.
Personally, I gave up on Bond a long time ago, so it was a pleasant surprise that 2006’s Casino Royale turned out to be really rather good. Inspired by the Bourne movies, the franchise looked to have taken a big step forward. Casino Royale was lean and tough, the story was engaging, and in Daniel Craig, we had the best Bond in decades.
It’s unfortunate then, that Quantum of Solace has undone pretty much all of this excellent work. I wish I could summarise the story but I had absolutely no idea what was going on - apart from the fact it had something to do with Bond’s dead girlfriend, the shadowy but boring Quantum organisation, and an environmental terrorist.
There’s a traditional formula for Bond films - a breathtaking pre-credits stunt, followed by thirty to forty dull minutes of plot exposition, after which Bond hooks up with a babe and chases people all over the globe (and sometimes into space). Obviously aware that Bond stories are stymied by this template, the writers of Quantum of Solace have departed from it by dispensing with the initial plot development section altogether. Instead, they spend the first third of the film whipping Craig around the world at breakneck speed, which has the unfortunate effect of making Quantum of Solace seem like the Holiday programme, but with fighting.
All of this isn’t very interesting, and it’s easy to slip into a soporific state during the copious action set-pieces. In fact, I was far more taken with the dazzlingly surreal universe this film dreams up - one where a beautiful female secret agent can meet Bond at a Haitian airport wearing nothing but a brown trenchcoat and boots. Immediately, the two British government employees check into a hotel and get busy, before receiving an invitation to a party…. that evening! She hasn’t a thing to wear! Leave it with me, says Bond, and arranges for her to get some clothes and have her hair done.
However, that particular scene has nothing on the bizarre ten minute sequence in which Bond steals a plane and crash-lands in the middle of the Bolivian desert. Eventually, he climbs out of a crater then walks for hours in the midday sun, dressed in a tuxedo, before rocking up to a dusty, ramshackle, one-horse town. There, he hops straight onto a public bus (the kind that comes along once every three days) and doesn‘t even bat an eyelid.
The whole film feels like a missed opportunity, especially after the efficient and exciting Casino Royale. Craig is good, but the problem with creating a grittier Bond is that if it isn't backed up by an interesting or partially believable story, it's difficult to know why you should care. Bond doesn't instantly become a deeper character just because he's mourning his girlfriend. Either way, it'll be interesting to see what happens next. Will Ms. Broccoli follow this up with yet another money-spinning, predictable action flick, or will she attempt to find some better source material (Sebastian Faulks, perhaps)? Wasting Daniel Craig would certainly be a shame.
Finally, a word about that title, which has been widely dismissed as the worst ever. I’ve been mulling it over for a while, and I think to some extent I know what it's trying to say. ‘Bond 22 - An Amount of Comfort'. Whatever that means. It’s as pointless and daft as the film itself.
Andy T.
MUPA, 17th SeptemberKomor Marcell u. 1
Pest South, IX Millenniumi Kulturális Központ (T2) 3 min
For the tail-end of summer, yesterday was particularly bitter. The fact that the temperature here has plummeted may well have put the willies up the organisers of the MOL Jazz Festival - over the next three days, the festival shifts to a 'jazz tent' on the banks of the Danube.
That's a stones throw away from the buildings that house the awful, shiny clubs Buddha Beach and Inside but thankfully, last night’s Opening Gala was at the Palace of Arts - a venue that is shiny, not awful and most importantly inside, rather than near it. Only two acts were on the bill, which indicated that lessons might have been learnt from the previous year. 2007’s Opening Gala was a long concert, which felt like a long concert - not helped by an unnecessarily drawn-out set from excitable German vocalist Michael Schiefel, who liked the sound of his own voice so much that he looped it for half an hour. By the time the excellent Richard Galliano appeared, the audience had started to drift away.
The bulk of last night’s show was given over to a screening of Dans La Nuit, with Louis Sclavis performing his score live. It's a work which treads a fine line between jazz, classical, and incidental music - but more on that later.
There was no doubt about how to classify the opening act; the Modern Art Orchestra, an eighteen piece big band made up of some prodigiously talented Hungarian musicians. This was a powerful group, at its best when sticking to a more traditional big band sound, instead of the jazz-tinged contemporary composition which started the proceedings. Mid tempo, heavy on atmosphere, with lots of moody swells and murky chords - I was left with the impression that they were either building slowly, or keeping something in the tank.
Their set picked up with the introduction of 19-year old tenor saxophonist Gábor Bolla. After a breathless start, in which Bolla seemed intent on playing as many notes as he could, as fast as possible, it became breathless in a good way. The opening to their final piece, driven by some thunderous drumming, was a standout moment. While the MAO's performance might not have caught fire for any sustained period, at the very least their inclusion gave the programme a welcome balance.On to Sclavis then, whose music for Dans La Nuit, a 1929 silent film, was composed at the request of Bertrand Tavernier. It was a smart move that drew attention to Charles Vanel's neglected classic (even though the majority of people who have heard the album won’t have seen the movie). Personally, I've never felt this was one of Sclavis’ best records - I couldn’t shake the idea that rating it highly would be akin to calling Godfather II a masterpiece, after only having seen it with the sound off.
Rare, but undeservedly so - Dans La Nuit really is a fantastic film, the heartbreaking story of a man who shortly after getting married, suffers a gruesome accident which leaves him wearing a mask. Horrified, his wife starts an affair. There’s a patchy history of modern scores for silent movies, but it quickly became apparent that, as well as being one of the most important contemporary jazz musicians around, Sclavis is also an exceptionally gifted composer.
Listening to the CD requires you to fill in a hell of a lot of blanks. Military drums - some kind of army procession. A distant clarinet note over relentless percussion - a train...? After ten minutes, it was abundantly clear that I had all the wrong answers. In fact, the military drums underscore a procession after a wedding ceremony. A trembling, tense marimba solo in 'Mauvais Reve' fills what should be a joyous celebration with a sense of foreboding. The more meandering passages found a point and the recurring main theme, which I've always thought was archaic, folksy and really rather nice, became infinitely darker and more complex.
At times there was just too much to take in. The ensemble sat with their backs to the audience, but even so, I found my eyes drifting away from the screen and towards the musicians. They cut loose a lot more than I'd expected, with some brilliant, dissonant improvisation from the violinist, Dominique Pifarely. A virtuosic bass clarinet drone at the film's climax had my eyes on Sclavis rather than the action, but to single moments out is almost ridiculous - the playing was uniformly magnificent.Disappointingly, only the ground floor was open yesterday. The first and second floors were nearly empty, apart from a handful of photographers... and what’s with people leaving early at MUPA? Perhaps they knew about the film's sub-GCSE ‘it was all a dream’ ending, tacked on at the request of the studio. Anyway, it was a shame. This was a performance which warranted a full house, and raucous, heartfelt applause.
Words by Andy T.
Pictures by Jacob P.
One recent Hungarian film I’ve heard an awful lot about is the subway system drama Kontroll. Released in 2003, this was a big domestic hit for director Nimród Antal who immediately bought a single ticket to Hollywood, where he went on to make this rubbish.
On paper though, Kontroll sounds interesting. A film set in the world of miserable Budapest ticket controllers? A critique, perhaps, of the much-maligned Hungarian public transport system, shot on location? Sign me up.
Sadly, Kontroll isn’t very good at all. In fact, it’s a tiresome mess, hovering uneasily between quirky comedy, quirky thriller and quirky romance, the lack of a clear focus giving the unfortunate impression that Nimród was making it all up as he went along. I suppose that ultimately, it would fall into the category of a ‘yoof’ movie, a little like Doug Liman’s Go, or more worryingly, any of Guy Ritchie’s empty, London-based films. The action is frenetically edited, and underscored by a thumping, but lame soundtrack from NEO, which constantly reminds you that if you aren’t under 25 you probably won't get the most out of this film.
Kontroll tells the story of a group of ticket collectors, led by Bulcsú (Sándor Csányi), a man who works, sleeps, and lives in the subway …(although he doesn’t, as far as I can recall, eat Subway). The rest of his crew are a weird bunch of freaks - there’s a convincingly shabby, moustachioed controller, a grizzled veteran, a narcoleptic, and the thick new boy who, for no reason whatsoever, has wheels in the bottom of his shoes. The other characters aren’t much better - we’re introduced to a pretty girl who wears a bear costume (for no reason whatsoever), a rival crew of controllers who hate Bulcsú’s gang (for no reason whatsoever), and a psychotic maniac who pushes pedestrians under trains (for no reaso…. pfffff. You get the idea).
With very little in the way of character development, the film ends up wearing its weirdness like a badge, the sprawling, claustrophobic underground system reminiscent of the effectively bizarre worlds created by Jeunet et Caro, or Terry Gilliam’s Brazil. Only, Nimród’s underground world seems flimsy and pointless - in my book, ten genre-hopping sub-plots don’t make a story. So... Bulcsú is afraid to leave the underground system… where he has these ‘hilarious’ encounters with passengers…. and everyone thinks he’s the pedestrian-pushing maniac... but, he falls in love… 'oooookaaay.' Finally though, so what? I was left firmly stranded at the station.
It’s in the comic sections that Kontroll disappoints the most. Nimród opts for an unimaginative montage technique, and sets up a series of familiar encounters between controllers and ticketless passengers, Japanese tourists, and beautiful women… then, rather than writing funny material, makes everybody SHOUT! It’s like being stuck in a lift with a boisterous six year old.
Interestingly, the film opens with a monologue from a BKV spokesperson who embraces, but also distances himself from ‘his friend’ Antal’s film. There certainly is a clever satire to be made about the flawed underground system here in Budapest, but this isn‘t it. How about a movie which tells the story of controller with a heart of gold, who cares about the passengers, doesn’t take great delight in finding people who are without a valid pass, and genuinely loves his job? Now that, I’d buy a ticket for.
Andy T.
Sadly, Kontroll isn’t very good at all. In fact, it’s a tiresome mess, hovering uneasily between quirky comedy, quirky thriller and quirky romance, the lack of a clear focus giving the unfortunate impression that Nimród was making it all up as he went along. I suppose that ultimately, it would fall into the category of a ‘yoof’ movie, a little like Doug Liman’s Go, or more worryingly, any of Guy Ritchie’s empty, London-based films. The action is frenetically edited, and underscored by a thumping, but lame soundtrack from NEO, which constantly reminds you that if you aren’t under 25 you probably won't get the most out of this film.
Kontroll tells the story of a group of ticket collectors, led by Bulcsú (Sándor Csányi), a man who works, sleeps, and lives in the subway …(although he doesn’t, as far as I can recall, eat Subway). The rest of his crew are a weird bunch of freaks - there’s a convincingly shabby, moustachioed controller, a grizzled veteran, a narcoleptic, and the thick new boy who, for no reason whatsoever, has wheels in the bottom of his shoes. The other characters aren’t much better - we’re introduced to a pretty girl who wears a bear costume (for no reason whatsoever), a rival crew of controllers who hate Bulcsú’s gang (for no reason whatsoever), and a psychotic maniac who pushes pedestrians under trains (for no reaso…. pfffff. You get the idea).
With very little in the way of character development, the film ends up wearing its weirdness like a badge, the sprawling, claustrophobic underground system reminiscent of the effectively bizarre worlds created by Jeunet et Caro, or Terry Gilliam’s Brazil. Only, Nimród’s underground world seems flimsy and pointless - in my book, ten genre-hopping sub-plots don’t make a story. So... Bulcsú is afraid to leave the underground system… where he has these ‘hilarious’ encounters with passengers…. and everyone thinks he’s the pedestrian-pushing maniac... but, he falls in love… 'oooookaaay.' Finally though, so what? I was left firmly stranded at the station.
It’s in the comic sections that Kontroll disappoints the most. Nimród opts for an unimaginative montage technique, and sets up a series of familiar encounters between controllers and ticketless passengers, Japanese tourists, and beautiful women… then, rather than writing funny material, makes everybody SHOUT! It’s like being stuck in a lift with a boisterous six year old.
Interestingly, the film opens with a monologue from a BKV spokesperson who embraces, but also distances himself from ‘his friend’ Antal’s film. There certainly is a clever satire to be made about the flawed underground system here in Budapest, but this isn‘t it. How about a movie which tells the story of controller with a heart of gold, who cares about the passengers, doesn’t take great delight in finding people who are without a valid pass, and genuinely loves his job? Now that, I’d buy a ticket for.
Andy T.
Erzsébet krt. 39 [map]
Pest Centre, VII, Király utca (T4/6), 3 min
In comparison to say, the British Film Institute's plush cinemas on London's South Bank, the Örökmozgó Filmmúzeum feels like something of a tin-pot operation.
Housed in what was once the 'Matra Mese és Ifjúsági Mozi' (which roughly translated means a 'children's picture house' specialising in 'fables'), the premises were taken over by the Hungarian National Film Archive in 1991. With its small café, narrow auditorium, and a couple of members of staff who seem to sell tickets, coffees and man the projection booth, it's clear from the outset that Örökmozgó isn't necessarily going to be a polished cinema-going experience.
At times, it's extremely ropey. In the past couple of years, I’ve seen Dustin Hoffman get sliced in half as he crossed the street during a showing of Midnight Cowboy. Only four minutes later, when the print was repositioned, were Dustin’s upper body and legs happily reunited. On another occasion, a copy of Buster Keaton's The General had four false starts before it was finally able to leave the platform. Perhaps most disappointingly of all, I turned up to a screening of Labyrinth to find that, contrary to what was advertised, the entire cast - trolls, goblins, David Bowie - would be speaking in French.
And yet, in spite of the damaged prints and occasionally misleading advertising, it’s really rather easy to ignore Örökmozgó’s flaws. Because of its connection to the archive, it has by far the most eclectic programming in the city. A single day might throw up a Claude Chabrol thriller, followed by a series of early shorts from D.W. Griffith, topped off with the film adaptation of Catch-22. And as disorganised as all that sounds, films are usually shown as part of week or month long seasons, such as 'America at War', or John Huston at 100.
As far as I'm concerned, it's the best cinema in Budapest. It isn't often you get to see films as diverse as Last Year at Marienbad, Apocalypse Now and Touch of Evil on the big screen. A monthly schedule is available here, films generally start at 4.30, 6.30 and 8.30 and tickets are inexpensive. Bring your own popcorn.
orokkmozgo film museum rock moz go orukmozgo arthouse cinema, repertory, art cinema
Get off the tram at Kiraly, and walk towards Blaha on the left hand side of the krt. Örökmozgó is on the corner of Dob utca.
Andy T.
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