The Master of Ballantrae (1953)

The Master of Ballentrae is a highly enjoyable example of the kind of old-fashioned swashbuckler film they simply do not make any more. It is also significant in that it is the penultimate swashbuckler of Errol Flynn's career, the man who made his name, as well as the success of the genre, with the classics like The Adventures of Robin Hood and Captain Blood. Although starting to look a little long in the tooth, Flynn still crackles with plenty of the charisma, energy and sex appeal he had done twenty years previously.

The story is loosely based on the Robert Louis Stevenson novel of the same name. In 18th Century Scotland, the Jacobite Rebellion is underway, with Bonnie Prince Charlie and his forces trying to reclaim the British throne from George II. Two brothers decide to take opposite sides in the war, in order to preserve the family fortune, whatever the outcome. Jamie Durie (played by Flynn) a hellraising scoundrel, with a string of women (in addition to his fiancé) and a string of gambling debts goes to fight for the rebellion, while his brother Henry, the pious, honest one, stays at home pretending to champion the English cause. When one of Jamie's spurned lovers betrays him to the Redcoats, he mistakenly thinks Henry is the culprit, and finds himself fleeing for his life, getting caught up in all manner of adventures involving slaves, pirates, an unscheduled trip to the West Indies, a Spanish Galleon full of gold, and a lovable rogue Irishman, Colonel Francis Burke (Roger Livesey). Will Jamie ever return to his homeland – and will he ever be convinced that it was not his brother who betrayed him?

Swashbuckling films are one of those genres where you expect certain tropes and The Master of Ballentrae does not disappoint, with sword fights a plenty, ships, colourful villains, treachery and betrayal. If there is a criticism to be made in terms of the genre, it is that this film provides little that we have not seen before. However, taken on its own merits, this is great entertainment, with Flynn belying his age and failing health to fling himself into the action scenes. The story rarely drags, with the goal of Jamie's quest to get back to Scotland constantly driving him on.

The Scotland in question is of course very much a Hollywood version of the country, with lush green hills, humble peasant folk, villainous Englishmen, and Scottish accents that sound like Groundskeeper Willie from The Simpsons. Wisely, Flynn does not attempt the Scots brogue, sticking instead to his familiar smooth tones. Livesey provides the perfect sidekick for him, giving his character as big a lust for life (and whiskey and women) as Jamie, and as much charm, but without ever overshadowing him. Anthony Steel as Henry is a little stiff and bland, but this is entirely in keeping with the character, a man the total opposite of Jamie.

The other big asset for the film is the rich and vivid cinematography by the legendary Jack Cardiff, who had previously shot the likes of The Red Shoes and The African Queen. The location filming, done around Cornwall, Scotland and Sicily, really brings the countryside to life, with the vivid colours as intoxicating and enjoyable as the star and the on-screen action.

Brats (1930)

A great example of Laurel and Hardy at the height of their powers, Brats takes a single idea, some slapstick, destruction, word play and mixes the lot into some great laugh aloud moments. The film also has some interesting symbolism relating to both the characters and to how parents see their children, as the juniors are literally small versions of the seniors.

Being a short film there is not much in the way of plot, simply a premise. Stan and Olly have been left in charge of their respective sons for the evening, sons that look exactly like miniature versions of their fathers and have a similarly antagonistic relationship. All the grownups have to do is keep the little ones out of trouble - what could possibly go wrong?

The answer is, of course, plenty, but what makes Brats more than a series of gags is the insight it gives us into the relationship between Stan and Olly. In the absence of their partners, the duo form a parental duo, with Olly as the stern father figure and Stan as the more easygoing mother.

Brats is also a perfect example of Laurel and Hardy's approach to talkie comedy, taking a more deliberate and measured pace compared to the frantic style of their silent work. Many of the gags are telegraphed in advance, and the build up to the laughs comes not from an unexpected surprise but from looking at the skate at the top of the stairs, or the snooker cue in front of a glass cabinet and realising, it is just a question of when things are going to go wrong.

Fans will recognise many favourite motifs that recur throughout the duo's films, such as Olly's withering glances to camera (and plaintive cry, not for the first time of "why don't you do something to help me?"). There are also some surprisingly agile slapstick moves from Hardy, as well as Stan's surreal mangling of the English language ("You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead”).

Director James Parrot uses some cinematic tricks such oversized props and clever editing to create the illusion of the children and adults interacting. To me this shows that the films of Laurel and Hardy can be considered groundbreaking, not just for the comedy, but also for the way they, and the directors they worked with were willing to go beyond their theatrical roots and exploit the medium of cinema.

Leviathan: The Story of Hellraiser and Hellbound: Hellraiser II (2015)

The 1980s were a boom time for horror franchises, but one stood apart from the Freddy and the Jason pack, with a unique sense of maturity, darkness and perversity. Leviathan is a Kickstarter funded labour of love documentary that aims to explore the roots of Hellraiser, and its sequel Hellbound, and how writer/director Clive Barker came from fringe theatre in Liverpool to the big screen in Hollywood.

Although hampered by limited resources to being, cinematically at least, little more than a series of talking heads, the story Leviathan tells is more than fascinating enough to sustain interest for fans of the films. Director Kevin McDonagh has managed to round up many of Barker's theatre collaborators, many of whom ended up involved in the films, such as Hellbound writer Peter Atkins, and most famously, Doug Bradley, who played Pinhead. Their stories of life on the road with the Dog Company theatre troupe help provide some insight into the journey from stage to page to big screen. However, they also leave no doubt that despite the collaborative and collective nature of the organisation, Barker was the prime mover.

Eventually though, it dawns on you that his is the one voice missing, presumably as he was unable or unwilling to talk. Obviously, this skewed the overall viewpoint, and was one of three factors that, by the end of the film, left me feeling as though the story was still incomplete.

The second was, although there is no shortage of people saying that the film is great and Clive Barker is a genius, this was not followed up with anywhere near enough real discussion of why the film and the characters associated with it were so original and iconic. There also no questions as to what sort of wider cultural impact did the film have, or any of the themes explored in Hellraiser.

Thirdly, despite the title, the version of Leviathan that I saw stopped abruptly just as the story got to the sequel, Hellbound, with that film getting little more than a cursory mention. Perhaps both of these complaints will be remedied on the DVD, with a longer version or bonus features. In the meantime, Leviathan is worth a look for horror fans, especially those interested in the early years of Clive Barker, even though the end product is ultimately a little frustrating for not going beyond the surface of the story.

The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956)

A remake of a film that he first attempted 20 years earlier, the 1956 version of The Man Who Knew Too Much has a bigger budget, bigger stars and a much more experienced Alfred Hitchcock behind the camera. It also has some emotional depth to the characters, giving some substance to the style.

Dr Ben McKenna (James Stewart) is holidaying in Marrakesh with his wife Jo (Doris Day) and young son Hank. They have an accidental meeting on a bus with a mysterious Frenchman, Louis Bernard, who is later murdered in front of the family. With his dying words, he reveals details of an assassination attempt on a foreign statesman. This plunges the McKenna family into a nightmare that see Hank kidnapped, and Ben and Jo in a desperate race against time to save two lives.

In many ways, The Man Who Knew Too Much fits in well with much of Hitchcock’s work. The story is an unlikely one, but no more so than many of his other films which share the trope of the ordinary man thrown into an extraordinary situation. It also has Hitchcock regular James Stewart who, as always, brings a real likeability and vulnerability to the character of Ben, as well as the complexity and glimpses of a darker side that Hitchcock was so good at bringing out of him.

Hitchcock also indulges in his love of what call “Pure Cinema”, using techniques and tools unique to the medium, such as editing or juxtaposition of sound and images, to manipulate the viewer and tell the story. This works brilliantly in the climactic scene at the Albert Hall in London, a bravura sequence, nearly 10 minutes long with no dialogue, only the sound of the orchestra (conducted in person by legendary Hitchcock collaborator Bernard Hermann). The tension mounts as the gunman lines up his target in his sights and Ben frantically tries to convince the police that he is telling the truth – and the whole thing is told through images and editing.

However, in some ways this is an atypical Hitchcock film. The ordinary man is often accompanied by a blonde woman, and The Man Who Knew Too Much is no exception in that respect. However, instead of the usual sub-plot that sees them playing cat-and-mouse love games, here the couple are already in love, happily married with a child, which we see in the opening sequences of the McKenna's holiday (including some great physical comedy from Stewart as he tries to get his longs legs into the awkward seating at a Moroccan restaurant). This makes the dynamic different, making them equal partners, with an equal stake in the outcome, and, as things become more desperate, superb acting from Day and Stewart makes the film less arch and knowing and much more heartfelt than the Hitchcock reputation as a master manipulator might lead you to expect.

Black Cobra (1987)

Fred “The Hammer” Williamson is a mainstay of 70s and 80s European exploitation films, and Black Cobra is a largely competent but unremarkable example of the Italian crime or Poliziotteschi genre.

The plot is lifted from Sylvester Stallone’s action thriller Cobra (so no surprises as to where the name came from) with Williamson playing Bob Malone, a maverick cop (is there any other kind in these films?) assigned to protect a fashion photographer who holds the key to identifying the head of a vicious biker gang

The other debt the film has is to Dirty Harry (as do many Italian cop films) with Malone sorting a hostage situation with a shotgun, and delivering a rip off of the famous “44 Magnum” speech. Williamson can act these macho roles in his sleep, so is not asked to do anything that he is not more than capable of.

There is little in the way of characterisation, other than a scene where Malone shows an unexpected tender side, feeding and fussing over his pet cat and the action set pieces, while lacking a real sense of threat or suspense are competently handled and exciting.

Things only really fall apart in the final 15 minutes, with a preposterous resurrection and interminably dull chase scene in a warehouse. Other than that, Black Cobra is worth a look for fans of action films, Poliziotteschi or The Hammer.

 

The Lodger (1927)

Coming before the droll British chase films of the 1930s, the glamorous Hollywood psychodramas of the 1940s and 50s and the controlled cruelty of his later work, the silent films of Alfred Hitchcock can get overlooked. Despite lacking the budget, resources and superstars of the later work, there is still much to enjoy as well as some pointers as to where the career of Mr Hitchcock was going to go, most particularly in The Lodger.

The plot sees a sinister Jack the Ripper style killer called The Avenger on the loose on the foggy streets of London, a killer who only targets blonde women. A mysterious man (Ivor Novello) arrives at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting, looking for a room to rent. The Buntings have a daughter, Daisy, who is a fashion model, and has a police detective boyfriend, Joe  - and blonde hair. As Joe investigates the murders, he begins to suspect the Bunting's new lodger - just as Daisy starts to find herself attracted to him. Does Joe have the right man? Moreover, is he about to lose his woman to him?

The Lodger was Hitchcock's third completed film but already we can see many of the themes and tropes that would crop up time and time again in his work over the next 50 years. The plot revolves not just around murder, but the murder of women, and blonde women at that. There is also a man wrongly accused of a crime, a slightly buffoonish police officer, a streak of black humour, and a twist ending. We also see in Ivor Novello, a leading man cast in a different light to how the public were used to seeing him – think of James Stewart as a neurotic weirdo in Vertigo.

In addition, Hitchcock is already starting to not just hint at sex and violence in his films, but draw a link between the two. This is most explicitly shown here, not just by the killer, but by Joe the detective, who gleefully talks of putting a ring on Daisy's finger after he has put a rope around the neck of the Avenger, implying that the perfect climax to a violent death is consummating his marriage.

However, the Lodger is more than just a dry run for Hitchcock's career, and is a great thriller in its own right. The cinematic style is at wonderfully audacious, with some brilliantly designed shots and scenes that show Hitchcock had grasped the unique power of the medium, and was also paying attention to and learning from some of his contemporaries, particularly the German Expressionists, such as Robert Wiene and his silent classic The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

As always with a silent film, the soundtrack that accompanies your screening will be a definite factor. While previous viewings have been on DVD with a soundtrack played by the London Symphony Orchestra, a recent watch on the big screen for me had music by drums/bass/guitar trio Minima. This was in itself an eclectic affair, moving seamlessly between jazzy noire, eerie atmosphere psychedelic noodling and loud, dramatic rhythm and may initially feel somewhat anachronistic, compared to the large ensemble or organ score of the time of the films release, However, it actually gives the film a completely different feel, one that is to my mind somewhat closer to the Giallo genre, and given that one of the progenitors of Giallo, Dario Argento, made his name with visually stunning films about sexually charged murder (with great soundtracks) this actually makes sense.

The Producers (1967)

A classic piece of 1960s madness, The Producers also kick-started the film-directing career of Mel Brooks. Viewed nowadays, it has two perfect lead actors, and a frantic neurotic energy that helps smooth over the bumps in the script.

After a string of Broadway flops, producer Max Bialystock (the incomparable Zero Mostel) is as desperate as he is broke. Just when all hope seems lost, his timid accountant Leo Bloom (Gene Wilder) inadvertently comes up with a fool proof money making scheme: find the worst show in the world, raise a huge budget by fraudulently overselling it to your investors, watch it close on first night, then flee to Rio with the leftover cash. However, even with a high kicking, seig heiling, musical about the life of Hitler, they forgot to take into account the questionable taste of the theatre-going public.

Brooks came into movies from a career writing skits for the likes of the legendary Sid Ceaser, and this shows in the script structure. Much of the first 20 minutes takes place in the office of Bialystok, and, consequently, feels a little stagey. In fairness to Brooks, this may be due to budgetary restrictions as much as anything, and after this he does try to expand the feel of the piece into something more cinematic, with montage trip around some of the sights of New York.

The characters and the writing are what really make The Producers work, rather than flashy filmmaking. Based on Brooks’ own experiences of working with Broadway producers, Max is one of the great monstrous comic creations, utterly devoted to nobody but himself, yet, thanks to the writing and Mostel's performance, we can actually begin to understand his desperation at how far he has fallen, to the extent where it is very easy to want him to succeed in his fraudulent endeavours. His charisma is such that it is also possible to see how an innocent yet perfectly intelligent man like Bloom can be corrupted and tempted into a life of crime.

Wilder more than holds his own as Bloom, playing him with enough vulnerability to make him likeable and sympathetic, rather than a one-dimensional shrieking bore, but with a nervous energy and the look of a trapped animal that makes this a hysterical film in both senses of the word. Elsewhere stand-up comedian Dick Shawn almost steals every scene he is in as Lorenzo St Dubois (L.S.D) the perpetually stoned hippy star of the musical, and his scenes have a loose improvised feel, a good contrast to the uptight feel of Bialystock and Bloom.

The rest of the supporting cast of characters are very much a snapshot of the cartoonish comedy caricatures of the era, from groovy flower power hippies, extremely camp gay men, to go-go dancing Swedish blonde secretaries. The Producers also paints a particular picture of New York, a city with a mix of the fancy and funky, a loud vibrant city, full of energy, and full of people of many different shapes, sizes, creeds, colours and persuasions, rich and poor, young and old, many of whom who don't give a damn about other people's sensibilities.

The highlight of the film is the jaw dropping musical set piece that is the opening of Springtime for Hitler. In style, structure and arrangement, the title song is a pitch perfect pastiche of the cheery upbeat Broadway musical, and if nothing else, perfectly illustrates the pitfalls of trying to discuss sensitive, complex subjects with rhyming couplets and chorus lines.