Barry Lyndon (1975) (Theatrical Re-Release)

(23/8/16)

“By What Means Redmond Barry Acquired the Style and Title of Barry Lyndon”

Detracting from conventional standards, Barry Lyndon may possibly be Kubrick’s greatest film. Scorsese concurs. It’s certainly one of my all-time favourites from the moment I saw it on home-video, and the eventual theatrical re-release reaffirmed that opinion. There’s rarely other films which are induced with such artistic flare, calibre and character. Other ‘perfect historical movies’ that correlate in such a way are Schindler’s List (1993), Once Upon a Time in America (1984), Mr. Turner (2014), Andersonville (1996) and Lincoln (2012); all collectively culminate themselves in a pool of attire and authenticity, encompassing many different elements from sharp dialogue to opulent costume design. Barry Lyndon is certainly amongst that crowd. Its eloquence and articulate narrative spirals itself to be one of the most underrated yet finest movies ever brought to the silver screen in film history, and if you’re not exactly big or well-informed on period dramas, there’s still vast room for it be appreciated for its cinematic and vibrant achievements.

Barry Lyndon is adapted from the 1844 novel “The Luck of Barry Lyndon”, which is a fictionalised tale loosely derived from the real life self-made aristocrat Andrew Robinson Stoney and his gradual demise during the mid-to-latter part of the 18th century. Kubrick had a knack for adapting novels and implanting his own unique twist with his glorified film-making credentials. What truly exposes the Kubrick flavour is the dehumanisation of our protagonist, which ripples throughout the three-hour epic. Kubrick was never bereft of the ideas of non-redemption and the metaphorical thought of the fall of man, as seen in his other cult movies such as Paths of Glory (1957) and Full Metal Jacket (1987). A man who had the might and endeavour to exploit controversial, unconventional and artsy methods to mainstream audiences and bring it to full fruition was certainly a feat of achievement. He had total artistic control with his work, something rare in 21st century Hollywood, with minimal to no oversight from the monopolised studios. Films today lack that Kubrick touch, but that is inevitably what his style entailed, films that are untouchable.

From the get-go, we are suckered into Barry Lyndon with the immensity of the opening titles; it sounds casual and cliché, but alongside the grandiose music of Handel’s ‘Sarabande’, it welcomes you to something spectacular. The very first shot introduces you to the sheer brilliance of the movie’s aesthetic, with two men preparing to duel after a squabble over horses – an unreliable narrator states that one of these gentlemen is the then Redmond Barry’s father. Barry Lyndon has been humbled as a movie in which every frame ‘looks like a painting’, influenced from the beautiful artwork that was created during the Enlightenment and Romantic eras. You genuinely feel like you are in an 18th century Europe. John Alcott, the cinematographer for Barry Lyndon, aswell as most of Kubrick’s other classics, won an Oscar for his cinematic achievement. Zeiss lenses were used for the shoot, which produces lenses for NASA, and most of the film was undertaken in natural lighting because the f-stop was at a whopping low of 0.7 – this was used to its fullest extent; it could essentially film in very dim environments. For example, there’s a scene where Lady Lyndon is playing cards among others, and the only source of light is from the candles on the table. On conventional shoots, this is too impractical to do as it is too dark and not enough light is fed into the camera. The lower the f-stop, the more shallow the depth of field is, so along with the card scene came the actors who had to stay immensely still to avoid the camera being out of focus. And with Kubrick known for his perfectionist traits, 100’s of takes of the same thing would be enacted regardless of if the ‘perfect’ take had already been done. Alongside this would be the use of zooms. Barry Lyndon has 36 zooms which are projected perfectly. The shots which zoom out show the immensity and scale of the landscape, the shots which zoom in present isolationism. The cinematography compliments both the visuals and the narrative.

“Containing an Account of the Misfortunes and Disasters Which Befell Barry Lyndon”

Barry Lyndon succumbs to an intermission at around the 100-minute mark. The movie is split into two very distinct halves. The first tells the tale of a vulnerable yet frustrated Irish man of gentry and his adventures through his squabbles with a high-ranking officer, stumbling across highwaymen, fighting for the British during the Seven Years’ War, and working as a double-agent for the Prussian army. The second is one of a different tale which examines a more boastful and egotistical man who exploits his wife’s aristocratic wealth, has a broken relationship with his step-son and follows his eventual demise. This is the element of dehumanisation we discussed earlier. The screenplay is compared to the likes of an old, dramatic Spielberg film, and I wrote in my review of Bridge of Spies (2015) that the dialogue in his movies are so full of “texture, colour and coherence”. The lines in Barry Lyndon replicate this statement, and are presented with such a rich and old-fashioned manner, especially the narrator, in which the sentences are written with such exuberance. This can be exemplified with our protagonist, played by Ryan O’Neal, and Leon Vitali, who plays Lord Bullingdon. It’s a breath of fresh air to hear such exquisite language when enacted formally (Barry Lyndon could easily be adapted into theatre).

It’s clear to think many casual movie-goers will find Barry Lyndon to be a dry test of patience, others will relish the complexities of the loose biopic, both on a microscopic and macroscopic sense. There’s so much depth to this movie that the unbeknownst watcher will have to view it on several occasions to fish out the details you will miss the first time. There was never a time when I felt bored – I was totally immersed. Barry Lyndon is like a stream entering into a river, going down a waterfall, then stopping at the dam. It flows, but three hours isn’t enough for me.

Matthew Alfrey

Showgirls (1995)

(13/7/16)

“Showgirls provides an abundance of female nudity, sloppy and bizarre attitudes, and a flirtation with drugs and violence”

“Showgirls” is possibly one of the most outrageous and rambunctious movies I have ever seen. Though it grants itself a very controversial and lurid subject matter, inundating itself with breasts and sly humour, Paul Verhoeven once again promotes one of his own to cult-like status. Regardless of its reputation, “Showgirls” isn’t necessarily a movie which lacks acting or direction. In fact, knowing Verhoeven’s traits, “Showgirls” is yet just another feature from the Dutch director who has essentially exploited the ideas of hyperbole and over-exaggeration, much like Tarantino has. The outlandish sex and dance scenes, as well as the ones of violence, are satires of our real world red-light districts, the sex industries and city nightlife.

I had the very privilege of watching “Showgirls” in 35mm at The Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square, London, during an all-night showing of possibly Paul Verhoeven’s five greatest films (the others being Robocop (1987), Total Recall (1990), Basic Instinct (1992) and Starship Troopers (1997)). “Showgirls” certainly boded as the worst of the night. However, being projected in true 35mm format presented “Showgirls” in a different mood. It certainly felt like I was watching an exploitation B-movie you’d find in a grind-house theatre in the US. It’s not meant to be taken seriously, and given its repetitive nature of nudity and as a fairly dire success story – from stripper to showgirl – my lasting impressions of the film was that it was fun, but nothing more. I cannot conclusively render it a particularly good film, far from it actually, as the very deviant nature of “Showgirls” preys out many unnecessary flaws and hiccups that are even replicated in more mainstream and modern movies such as The Wolf of Wall Street (2013). We will talk about such instances throughout the review.

Brushed over briefly, “Showgirls” follows the story of Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley), a lone drifter who moves up within the Las Vegas dance scene from a stripper in the measly Cheetah’s Topless Club to the opulent burlesque Stardust stage show. The latter is fronted by the popular Cristal Connors, who, despite her crass and dejected comments towards Nomi upon meeting, eventually asks her to audition for the chorus line of Goddess. This is done after Cristal and her boyfriend Zack Carey receive a rather pricey lap-dance from her at Cheetah’s, exhibiting her moves and the greater potential she has when it comes to dancing. In spite of Nomi’s temperamental behavioral problems, the only person keeping her going is Molly Abrams, the first person she comes across in Vegas and the one who offered her refuge in her trailer home. Also somewhat helping her along her way is James Smith, an odd-job worker who obviously has admiration for Nomi but her attitude gets the better of her throughout the movie, and as a result occasionally neglects him. But Nomi isn’t the hero in “Showgirls”, it is Molly. Without her, there would be no deus ex machina, no machine to get the ball going, no sense of inspiration for Nomi to get where she wants to be.

As Nomi gradually becomes broiled up in the new lavish lifestyle of fame, she begins to become more self-centred and arrogant as opposed to when we first see her. She begins to neglect Molly, her only true friend who aspired her to get to where she was. Her transition into megalomania is also coupled with her consequential flings with Zack, the Stardust’s wealthy entertainment director, which ultimately fuels her ego and causes adversity with Cristal. While “Showgirls” provides the relationship and character development, though meekly, it seriously dawdles when it comes to it subject matter. It has the style, but not the substance. It unleashes more of the same repetitive tendencies throughout the picture; the abundance of female nudity, the sloppy and bizarre attitudes, and a flirtation with drugs and violence (a switchblade is revealed only minutes into the movie). That’s why I explained this movie relates to the likes of movies such as The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) for its repetitive nature of more of the same stuff. There’s only a certain threshold you can endure until you become bored of it, and “Showgirls” does just that. Not only does it lack the digression into new plot points to spark fresh motives, the story is, in simplest terms, paper thin. Now don’t assume I don’t love movies that don’t have the most complex stories. More mainstream movies such as Gravity (2013), Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) and The Revenant (2015) may not have the most convoluted plots but they certainly have more appraisal when it comes to film-making achievements (and they are all movies I have profoundly enjoyed, even though I regarded The Revenant (2015) as ‘underwhelmingly magnificent’).

“Showgirls” certainly lives up to its exuberant and boisterous reputation. I can certainly see why it received cult-like status many years after it was made when it was released on VHS, but as explained earlier, Verhoeven is the pinnacle of popular cult film-making, alongside Fincher’s earlier filmography. “Showgirls” won’t be a movie I will be watching anytime soon, but it will remain to have a lasting impression on me.

Matthew Alfrey

The Hateful Eight (2015)

(29/2/16)

“It’s intricacies form the whole Tarantino package, from a welling lore to the innovation of using a 70mm format”

From the rather inconspicuous and chilling opening, aided with Ennio Morricone’s haunting soundtrack, seeing “THE EIGHTH FILM BY QUENTIN TARANTINO” be projected onto my vulnerable eyes for the first time was certainly a shivering moment. There has been so much anticipation surrounding this movie as I have always been leached in by Tarantino’s works, a director who, admittedly, thrives off polarizing controversy, homages to older works (particularly the 70s era), grandiose soundtracks, spaghetti westerns, slapstick dialogue, and exploitation (in some cases, blaxploitation). I knew The Hateful Eight wouldn’t detract from that list, but like Tarantino’s style, he would also explore some new techniques and delve into different subject matters. The Hateful Eight is certainly his most eerie and intimidating work yet, surpassing Death Proof (2007), which follows the tale of eight mysterious people who are caught up in Minnie’s Haberdashery during a blizzard in Wyoming – all for it to be sucked into a frenzy of lies and deception. “One of them fellas is not who he says he is” exclaims John Ruth, played brilliantly by Kurt Russell.

Tarantino has managed to pull off a horror flick without the element of horror. It subversives itself more on mystery of our seemingly hateful characters, aided with the claustrophobic environment of the locked-in haberdashery, the inescapable blizzard, and the original score as touched on previously. Furthermore, our entourage of hateful’s provide themselves with backgrounds that are destined for trouble when mixed with the others. To exemplify, we have an ex-Confederate general, a black ex-Union Major, a bounty hunter and hangman, his bounty, and a sheriff to point out a few. A very interesting narrative is pulled out by Tarantino here as he has essentially amalgamated elements from his debut movie Reservoir Dogs (1992) and The Thing (1982). What is also intriguing is how Morricone has captured similar vibes from The Thing into The Hateful Eight, even using 34-year-old scores from John Carpenter’s movie in this one (a technique that Tarantino often uses). The real horror element in The Hateful Eight is, of course, the disastrous blizzard that has essentially imprisoned the characters. Bereft of it, and suffice to say, The Hateful Eight would have a more feeble yet still entertaining story.

I had the very privilege of watching the film in theatres twice, the latter being projected in Ultra-Panavision 70mm in Leicester Square which, to the best of my knowledge, was the only 70mm projection of it in the UK, certainly in England to say the least. Gazing upon such wide fixtures assuredly propped up multitudes of reverence and admiration, exemplifying the beauty of cinema and what it’s really about. This very rare and exceptional format hadn’t been done since 1966 with Khartoum (1966), with only an assortment of other films which were able to do it such as Ben-Hur (1959) and Battle of the Bulge (1965). It without a doubt created the immersion of going to a special event, such as that of a premiere. Upon arriving, a “Special Roadshow” programme handout was given out, which fulfilled an array of glorious photographs from the production to the technical aspects of how it was filmed, such as the incredible aspect ratio of the motion picture (that being 2.76:1, whereas most films use either 1.85:1 or 2.39:1). Succeeding this was the overture, which presented itself with an impeccable arty screenshot and Ennio Morricone’s spine-bending score, setting up the chaos of what was to ensue. This ultimately got me going for what was to follow; when the lush veils of snowy mountains and howling forests blissfully revealed themselves I was astonished at how wide something could be shot and then subsequently projected. A four horse stagecoach sets off from the right, only for it to take a handful of minutes to reach the other side. There was so much periphery and something I had never seen nor envisioned in cinema in my lifetime. The brilliance of it also is that I could tell it was being projected on celluloid, seeing the occasional blimps of the reel being shone through the projector. This made the experience more warmer and immersive, as I was literally watching film.

Extra scenes were also added in contrast to my first viewing in a standard theatre, which ran at 2 hours 47 minutes compared to the 3 hours 7 minutes you see on 70mm. Though commendable to treat fans with extra footage on 70mm, and granted it sets up some more stable character development and story, my slants about this is idea that the film in itself is too long for the substance of the picture. More fun but frivolous dialogue is thrown about which effectively exhausts the audience, and I was grateful for the 12 minute interval we received to relax from Tarantino’s slapstick writing.

Delving into Tarantino’s frequenters (Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, James Parks and Bruce Dern) was once again appealing to witness as the synergy of the bunch oozes miraculously from the screenplay to screen. Newcomers are also welcomed, such as Jennifer Jason Leigh, who has merited an Oscar nomination for her role as Daisy Domergue, Demian Bichir and Channing Tatum. Goggins’ performance is most definitely overlooked as he is the backbone of why the cast interacts so much. He liaisons with everybody; the good, the bad, and the hateful, as does Jackson and Russell in their respective supporting roles.

To rally this up, you will most definitely see this picture knowing Tarantino was the at the helm of the ship, and if you were expecting a grandiose of foul-mouthing, violence, quirky names and anecdotes, you won’t be of disappoint. It’s intricacies form the whole Tarantino package, from a welling lore to the innovation of using a 70mm format. Disregarding the movie’s overall length, The Hateful Eight is summed up as a merge from other greats, humbling Reservoir Dogs (1992), The Thing (1982) and even to the likes of 12 Angry Men (1957). An ideal recommendation for Western fanatics and mystery goers.

Matthew Alfrey

Biutiful (2010)

(19/09/15)

“This movie certainly embodies ideas, the metaphysical, and beyond”

Spirituality. Morality. Existentialism. If anyone within movie fandom knows me well, it is that I am a huge admirer of Alejandro González Iñárritu. Having been first exposed to Babel at around the age of 10, and subsequently Amores Perros and Birdman, Iñárritu conceivably defines the essence of social realism. Sadly, despite some uneasy remarks from critics surrounding Iñárritu for bestowing rather ‘uppity’, artsy or pretentious directing traits, Iñárritu has, for me, infallibly provided me with hours of happiness, anguish, culture, and concepts. Biutiful doesn’t deviate from that compilation, and though not for everyone (as a result from its rather lukewarm reviews), this movie certainly embodies ideas, the metaphysical, and beyond.

Biutiful stars the shrewd Oscar-winner Javier Bardem as he plays Uxbal, a single father of two who bestows an obscure ability (power, if you wish) to see and speak with the dead while simultaneously earning fraudulent wages from ‘managing’ and helping illegal immigrants find work in the deep slums of Barcelona, subsequently to make a living. Alongside this, he also has an uneasy on-and-off relationship with his alcoholic ex-wife as well as suffering from prostate cancer, unknown to many; fate ultimately encircles him. Though the fundamental premise of Biutiful may seem to be a movie placed within the fantasy genre, Iñárritu projects the 147 minute odyssey in a manner which entails that of a drama – as you would expect if you have studied Iñárritu’s catalouge – only subtly playing up to the ‘deceased’ undertones throughout the course of the film. Uxbal’s everyday life, such as his unsettling relationships with his brother, ex-wife, and though incredibly loving to them, children, aswell as his work ethic, place more of a monopoly as opposed to Uxbal’s ‘gift’ of communicating with the dead. His ‘gift’ vibrantly trickles in the background throughout the movie, which makes it so much more encapsulating and fascinating with its potential – some families even ask him to attend their family funerals so they can help communicate with their loved ones. Biutiful favours moral absolutism; Bardem’s character, for example, tries to help his illegal workforce by buying them heaters for their basement, or offering up refuge for those that are homeless. Uxbal gradually puts himself on a moral path by attempting to redeem himself by enacting on his own deeds of common decency.

Biutiful ultimately is a beautiful movie, though an incredibly discomforting, disturbing and poignant one. Despite the literally abdominal and detestable world in which we are thrown upon in, coupled with the absence of levity, I still feel there is a touch of hope wavering beyond the physical (very much like Edward Scissorhands). There is so much more beyond to what we actually see, though Iñárritu intentionally plays on these vibes to secure a great deal of ambiguity, thought, metaphors, and rationale from his audience. But it’s also a film that isn’t afraid to show what reality can really be – it doesn’t pander on all the happy things in life, and it brutally depicts a flavour of the real world we are living in.

In terms of peripheries, Iñárritu achieved this sense of anguish by adopting a shaky-cam effect to clout the disarray and unease – Rodrigo Prieto, whose filmography also includes The Wolf of Wall Street, Argo, and Babel, wonderfully fulfills the optics. Bardem’s performance fuels a magnitude of brilliance – he keeps the film magnetic, rampant, and solemn. Iñárritu wrote this specifically for Bardem in mind, a commendable entity whose acting traits have lived up to roles that merit exposition and influence – take No Country For Old Men for example. Gustavo Santaolalla marks another return for Iñárritu as his occasional score crops up in times of desideratum – to the uninitiated, Santaolalla’s Oscar binding career has soared him to critical acclaim with accompanying soundtracks in films such as Brokeback Mountain and Babel. He also reportedly wrote around 27 pieces of music for the film, of which only 4 make an appearance. Though sparse and infrequent, the music applies itself beautifully, occasionally marking itself in times of montage or melancholy.

Though visually a rather linear movie, Biutiful entails themes and ideas which are seriously complex. This is the type of movie you literally think about constantly days after you watch it, regarding that you see it with an open mind and if it corresponds with your viewing criteria. I am utterly fascinated by this movie and wish to observe, discuss, and analyse it more because it’s adopted its own formality and entourage. I am eagerly looking forward to The Revenant, Iñárritu’s upcoming sixth film. But for Biutiful, Iñárritu delivers a soaring spectacle.

Matthew Alfrey

The Liberator (2013)

(3/09/15)

“A mindful politically-driven drama which staggers on its potential”

Alberto Arvelo’s The Liberator had been a hopeful spectacle for me after viewing the trailer I became accustomed to a year prior. It opened up a great deal of interest to me; it bounded the biographic and historic life of Simón Bolívar, a Venezuelan revolutionary, sparsely influenced by the American War of Independence (among other sources), with the intent of freeing large provinces of South America from Spanish monarchical rule. The sole premise of the movie easily allured me – Simón Bolívar, along with the likes of Lincoln, were concrete figures in history who provided a catalyst of hope for their own people; Bolívar himself was even called Liberator by his supporters, hence the film’s title. As a Western European, I was sightless in such an immeasurable and huge part of history that was embarrassingly unknown to me prior watching. The film’s use of Spanish, tinted with various bouts of English in occasional scenes, widened that flavour of authenticity and rawness, adding to that sense of true grit and immersion.

The film’s generous budget warranted the movie to capture utterly awe-inspiring shots. The cinematography undoubtedly bestowed a mountainous role in this project, with the utterly wondrous scenery predominantly being filmed in Venezuela, in rich locations such as the Canaima National Park. Coupled with the glorious style the film was shot in, the movie panders a beautiful first opening shot, and correlating to Spielberg’s Lincoln, it takes a fair few minutes for us to see the face of our hero, the camera making clever use of manipulation to introduce us gradually to a figure so statute and powerful.

However, despite the rather hefty sum the movie was granted, this is a mindful politically-driven drama which staggers on its potential. Simón Bolívar was a hugely complex man with a hugely complex history; this two-hour picture doesn’t perpetuate that sense of justice we need. I felt no true sense of impact and motivation throughout the course of the movie – we see little oppression from the actions of the Spanish (or “Royalists”) from Bolívar’s perspective other than a small scene or two which involved the use of slaves. It makes us wonder why Bolívar, a privileged aristocrat, is actually fighting this cause. Clearly our antagonists have meek character development, as we are hardly introduced to them. But that hidden precedent of angst and pain we didn’t get to see lost the realistic tendency of Bolívar’s motives. Comparatively, 12 Years A Slave is a movie which had the actual tenacity to depict the brutalization of African-Americans, and as a result we could see why Solomon Northup was so eager for emancipation.

Bolívar’s character and intentions nearer the end of the film become a hazy cloud, and it’s abrupt conclusion left holes that made me pander to do some more research on the life of this polarizing figure. It attempted to become more political than adventurous during the movie’s third act (as expected), but subsequently felt too quick and brushed over once Bolívar’s adversarial ideologies started to emerge, as if the creator’s didn’t want us to feel any dislike against our protagonist. In Schindler’s List we understand that Schindler’s initial intentions were to take advantage of war Jews for profiteering, yet Schindler is still known as one of the most compassionate and influential people during that period because his good deeds overpowered the bad ones. Why was Arvelo so afraid to show that?

Easily, this film’s intentions and awareness of South American history could have been expanded into a three-hour treat, a miniseries, or possibly a trilogy. It left audiences wondering more into this amazing history and how intricate Bolívar’s life actually was. Like the Wachowski’s Cloud Atlas, this project was incredibly ambitious to translate into film, something which of course, as previously mentioned, had the utmost potential to explain more about the life of this wondrous character – which it unfortunately lacked. Not fantastic, but not terrible either.

Matthew Alfrey

Malfrey's Movie Madness

"He killed them with their love. That's how it is every day, all over the world."

Tag: Review

Barry Lyndon (1975) (Theatrical Re-Release)

Showgirls (1995)

The Hateful Eight (2015)

Biutiful (2010)

The Liberator (2013)

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