The Cinemasitter

Category: Uncategorized

  • The Young and the Brave

    Being a movie fan occasionally has its rewards. Let’s not forget for a second that watching films, at the cinema at least, is becoming quite an expensive interest. The cost of tickets and refreshments is soaring (along with everything else, sadly), to the point that adult tickets now generally cost £7 or more – although dvd prices seem to be falling, which goes some way towards balancing things out, I guess. If I tried to work out how much I spent a year on cinema trips and dvds, I would probably break down and sob for several days. And then buy a dvd to cheer myself up.

    But just occasionally, your movie fan reputation opens up an unexpected door or two. This past July, because of my locally renowned status as an all-round movie egghead, I was asked to judge a young filmmakers competition. This was a real honour to me – everything I know about films I’ve gleaned from watching them and reading articles in print or on the web. So to be considered experienced enough to actually judge other films critically was quite something.

    The films I judged were two minutes long and made by primary school children, but they were all enthusiastically made, and it was a pleasure to see the planning and hard work that had gone in to them. The sense that I was perhaps contributing to a filmmaking community was almost palpable. And their efforts were well worth watching. It is something I hope I can contribute to again.

    The icing on the cake was the guest of honour at the awards ceremony in Cambridge, Son of Rambow star Will Poulter. A thoroughly charming and gracious young man, he happily signed autographs for all the kids (and some adults too… ahem). It was apparently the first time he had been mobbed for signings; once he has finished filming the next Narnia flick, there will probably be a few more.

    The experience has really inspired me to take up pen and parchment and give this damn filmmaking thing a go, something I have wanted to do for ages but never had sufficient inspiration to make it happen. If the young ‘uns can do it, then surely a thirty-something wannabe critic can do too. But I had better be quick, because the green shoots of new talent are starting to show…

  • Confessions of a DTV sequel addict

    Hello. My name is … (name removed to protect the individual) and I am a recovering direct-to-video sequel addict. I have been watching mediocre, boring, or just plain awful DTV spin-offs for nearly ten years.

    I didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time I would go to the cinema to see a sci-fi, fantasy or horror film without thinking about the sequel possibilities it might afford. I would enjoy the film (or not, as the case may be) and move on to the next movie. If a sequel popped up in the cinema some time later, then I would try and catch it if I enjoyed the original, or if the reviews were fairly favourable.

    Now though, give me a half-decent genre film and, so help me, I look forward to seeing how a DTV sequel might be squeezed out of it.

    It all started in the mid-90s. When I first started surfing the Internets, I came across Coming Attractions, one of the first popular movie gossip websites to emerge (now sadly defunct). One film title they had listed as being in development was Tremors 3. Hang on, I thought – Tremors 3…? As in, a sequel to that rather cool Kevin Bacon monster movie from a few years back? Does that mean there was a Tremors 2?!

    From that moment on, I was hooked. I wanted to know what happened after every original film had finished. Not just for the Tremors movies, but all the rest: From Dusk Till Dawn, Mimic, Species, Candyman, Starship Troopers… I wanted to watch them all. It was a brave new world of movies: the theatrical originals and their bastard straight-to-video offspring. Which characters lived on? Which died? How did the threat or horror from the first film resurface and continue?

    The disappointments of each inferior sequel somehow failed to quench my curiosity. The inept direction, the cheesy dialogue, the shoddy FX work, the prerequisite topless girl scene(s), the low-rent cast: each an essential ingredient for the lazy quick-buck sequel. I searched for some sort of meaningful continuation of the original film’s story and themes; sometimes with modest success, but often doomed to a wild goose chase. Yet I lived in perpetual optimism that perhaps the next sequel would have its compensations…

    My addiction grew steadily worse, taking in the wild pointlessness of sequels to films that weren’t even that good in the first place (Hollow Man 2, anyone? Thought not). I read up about new sequels in the pipeline – which cast members could be coaxed back? What tenuous connection would the new film have to its parent (oh look, the ghost of the man who haunted the original house is back as the ghost in the new one…)?

    Lately though, I have found my interest has mercifully begun to wane. Perhaps the addiction has now bottomed out and I can start the road back to some form of normality? I live in hope. But still, if I listen hard enough, I can hear the cries of new sequels emerging from the dark minds of Hollywood executives and accountants. New spin-offs to films that didn’t need any form of continuation, films that have committed no crime to cinema but must suffer the indignity of having their modest reputations stripped and sullied in order to keep studio pockets lined with as much cash as possible.

    Perhaps it’s too late for me. But if you should see someone wandering up and down the aisles of a dvd store looking at DTV drivel, don’t just snort with derision; spare a thought for them. Maybe they too have become enslaved by the mercenary machinations of Hollywood’s evil geniuses. Maybe have a quiet word and suggest something with a bit more life and intelligence. No Country for Old Men, or something like that.

    Now, what’s happening with Starship Troopers 3…?

  • Groovin’ in the Grindhouse

    Those lovely people at the Cambridge Arts Picturehouse came up trumps again this past weekend by running a one-off showing of the now-infamous Tarantino-Rodriguez double-header from last year, Grindhouse. The film, a loving tribute to the cheap exploitation trash that was churned out in the 60s, 70s and 80s to make quick bucks for American theaters, died an equally quick death at the US box office, and was consequently broken up in to two separate entities for foreign markets, including the UK: QT’s Death Proof and Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. Both films had their running times beefed up from their original cuts within the double-bill, but alas, for the distributors at least, they were largely ignored on this side of the pond as well.

    All of which is a shame. I failed to catch either of the films in their lonely extended versions, mostly due to the fact that they lasted all of about a week at the nearest multiplex. In the end though, I’m glad I did, as I have now managed to see them as they were originally intended: short, sweet and to the point. I can’t really imagine watching either of them on its own now; a lot of the fun comes from the fact they are quite different beasts, each with their own strengths and faults, but quite clearly companion pieces, in spirit at least. Of the two, I preferred Rodriguez’s rather entertaining Planet Terror, a curious hybrid of zombie horror and sci-fi action, which throws all sense to the wind and revels in its own gratuitous action and goo. QT’s Death Proof was also pretty good, though a bit too talky at times; fun though the dialogue is, one suspects a true grindhouse audience would almost certainly be throwing beer bottles at the screen and calling for the next over-the-top death or scantily-clad girl to come along quickly, please. Still, when the stunts and deaths come, they are certainly worth it.

    Naturally, part of the attraction is the whole ‘grindhouse experience’: the fake scratches and film damage, the 70s-style studio logos, the ‘feature presentation’ sequences (carried over from Tarantino’s earlier Kill Bill opus); and of course, the legendary fake trailers (advertising films that do not exist but look and act the part) from the warped minds of people like Eli Roth, Rob Zombie and Edgar Wright. These trailers are perfectly pitched and clearly a stroke of genius, sandwiched snugly between the two films. All of these elements combine to form a fantastical, late night, high-calorie, spectacular extravaganza. Only designed to look badly made and dirt cheap.

    So to sum up, I would have to say: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, as the saying goes (…I think?). If you can find a screening near you, and you’re into the whole sci-fi/horror/stalk-and-slash genres, and you haven’t seen either of the films yet, it’s well worth a trip. Here’s hoping justice is served and a dvd of the full Grindhouse experience is forthcoming.

  • The Joy of New Discoveries (or: Why Creepshow Kicked My Ass)

    One of the best things about being a film fan (or indeed a fan of books, music or most other things) is that every once in a while, you stumble across something by accident that slaps a great big smile on your face and reminds you just why you are a fan in the first place. Over the past 12 months or so I have been happily reading Ain’t It Cool‘s essays on 25 Years Ago: The Greatest Genre Year Ever. Never anything less than enthusiastic, these articles from various fans have each reviewed a movie released in the golden year of 1982, when the planets aligned, warring Gods united and Fate conspired to provides us with a generous helping of geek classics that have withstood the tests of time better than most. Sadly I was too young and sheltered at this point in my life to enjoy these greats on the big screen, save one: E.T., which my dad took me to see at the local fleapit. The others (among them Blade Runner, Poltergeist and The Thing) I eventually caught up with on TV and video, but one article centred on a film I hadn’t come across before: Creepshow.

    For whatever reason, Creepshow seems to have pretty much skulked under the radar in the UK. I’m sure it has always been well known in horror geek circles of course, but in the mainstream it appears to have stayed out of the limelight. I certainly don’t recall any broadcasts on the terrestrial TV channels, though of course it might have slipped me by. This seems odd to me: directed by George A Romero (whose ‘Dead’ films still get regular airings on TV), written by Stephen King (basically as well known in the UK as in America), and featuring a strong cast, Creepshow should be much better known than it is.

    Initially I ignored this article and simply presumed it to be some obscure low-budget item in the mold of Evil Dead, but eventually I did click through and read it. The great thing about these articles is their personal nature; you can almost imagine you had the same experience in your childhood (wishful thinking on my part, sadly). Halfway through the article came a bit that grabbed my attention:

    “On one such outing back in ’82, we arrived at the theater and were greeted by a poster featuring a skeleton behind a ticket counter. The tagline of the film read, “The most fun you’ll ever have being scared.” Okay. I’m in, I thought.”

    For some reason that pulled me in. Now, let me just put on record my geek credentials: I like a bit of horror once in a while, but I’m no gorehound. I have so far happily avoided all of the Saws and the Hostels. Give me a sci-fi horror (Alien, The Fly), or a classic horror (Dracula, Frankenstein), or a comedy horror (Evil Dead 2, Shaun of the Dead) any day. I love old-school slashers like Halloween. Beyond that I start to wimp out, I’m sorry to say. But a film that boasts about being ‘the most fun you’ll ever have being scared’… now that sounds pretty cool. Just the image of the skeleton behind the ticket counter tickled me.

    So I waited for the recent SE dvd release to drop to a fiver (Play.com if you’re interested), and took a risk. And I loved it. This was perfect Halloween-night sleepover fun (shame it’s March…). It was funny, spooky and scary, sometimes all at the same time. When it was silly, there was an edge of eeriness, and then when it was properly scary, there was a sense of gallows humour about it. Basically, this was great entertainment, expertly crafted by writer, director, cast and crew, and I want more. Now. Please.

    As I said, every so often you make a new discovery that just reminds you why films are your hobby and passion. Creepshow did that for me this month. Now, do I take a risk on Creepshow 2…?

  • Universal Pictures invites you to the Royal Film Premiere of…

    This week I found myself in the unusual position of being a competition winner. Well, that’s not quite true; last year I did win a Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer t-shirt and set of stickers as runner-up in a London Eye competition, but that’s not really on the same scale. This time I had scored a pair of tickets to the royal premiere of The Other Boleyn Girl at the Odeon Cinema in London’s Leicester Square. For the sake of posterity, and for those who are interested in what actually goes on for the average guest at a premiere, I thought I would write the experience up before my somewhat deficient memory cells jettison the whole thing in a few weeks time, as is the norm, to be replaced by some new moment of embarrassment I’ll no doubt create for myself and remember for evermore.

    Mrs. Ark being otherwise engaged for the day, my brother and I took the train in to London (about an hour’s journey time) and headed straight over to Universal’s rather plush-looking offices in Oxford Street to pick up the tickets. Only getting as far as the reception desk on the first floor, we weren’t able to see if there were any Hollywood types lurking around, or even British movie types, but never mind. Having verified that I had actually got tickets (one brief phone call from a London number being all the confirmation I had had thus far), we set off to grab a pizza before the doors officially opened at 6.30pm. After said pizza, we headed through Chinatown towards Leicester Square, easily found thanks to the searchlights being projected outside the cinema up in to the evening sky. Incidentally, we walked past Stephen Merchant (of The Office and Extras fame) in the street, texting on his phone. I only say that because celebrity spotting is a rare occurrence for me, and the chance to name-drop even rarer.

    In Leicester Square, crowd fences had been erected to stop vermin like you or me from getting anywhere near the entrance of the cinema, so we just wandered around for a bit, figuring out where the VIPs would be arriving. We knew Prince Charles and Camilla would be there, but I wasn’t sure which stars would turn out for the event. As it happened, all three stars of the film were present: Natalie Portman (Anne Boleyn), Scarlett Johansson (Mary Boleyn) and Eric Bana (King ‘enry VIII). Ms Johansson arrived first, swamped with cries from photographers and celeb-spotters alike. Hundreds of mobile phones were thrust in to the air to snap or film her (of which one was mine, I’m afraid) as she signed autographs for the people lucky enough to be at the front. It was an odd moment, and I couldn’t help feeling I had somehow lowered myself by becoming another amateur paparazzi. And what must it be like for her, knowing how she was being ogled and pried upon by so many fans and idle-onlookers alike?

    Well, having had a reasonably close brush with fame and stardom (or rather, someone else’s fame and stardom), we decided to turn ourselves instantly in to the envy of the crowd and pull out our tickets to the big show. Once past the initial security people, we headed diagonally across the Square through the green bit towards the South East corner, where the stars were arriving. Pausing briefly to savour the moment, we then moved on to the red carpet itself. Sadly there was no explosion of flashbulbs to herald our arrival. In fact, the carpet wasn’t even red: it was a blue-turquoise colour, flanked either side rather nicely by medieval-style flaming torches. I strolled up the carpet toward the cinema entrance, noting both how awkward it felt to be the centre of attention like this while crowds of people on either side of the carpet looked on, and also how I clearly wasn’t the centre of attention because no-one wanted to look at two people who were clearly of no interest whatsoever. Another fantasy bubble popped.

    Feeling ever so slightly rejected, I headed in to the cinema with my brother just behind, showing our tickets once again; we got scanned by more security personnel; walked past some random woman dressed up in fetish gear (had security stopped her from going in?); and went through in to the cinema itself, where we were shown to our seats. It was now about 6.45, half an hour before doors closed to guests. As we sat down, I noticed each seat had some freebies: a box of two expensive-looking chocolates, a bottle of water (how thoughtful) and a film programme. Nice. Up on the screen, the audience was being shown a live broadcast feed from outside as some interviewer stopped and talked to anyone remotely famous as they approached the doors. My brother noted how it made a pleasant change from the usual crap adverts at the local multiplex. I concurred.

    So we sat and watched this for half an hour, looking around the cinema (which neither of us had been to since it was rennovated a few years back) and waiting for the show proper to begin. More people arrived, looking very smartly dressed – it was black tie, and many people had dressed as such, though I’m afraid as I don’t own a tux, it was just smart trousers and normal tie for me. All the celebrities slowly filtered in after giving interview after interview after interview to the press just outside. Now we were just waiting for Charles and Camilla, and we had to wait until 7.45 before their car finally turned up. Then they had to do the official line-up, as the producer of the film (in a dress that did nothing for her figure and left very little to the imagination) introduced the prince to all the studio executives who put up the finance (and presumably contributed very little else), and then the talent in front of and behind the camera. Scarlett Johansson shook Charles’ hand, but Natalie Portman won extra points by actually curtsying.

    Finally, Charles and Camilla entered the auditorium, and the whole theatre was asked to “be upstanding” while the national anthem was played on the organ that had risen slowly out of the orchestra pit in front of the screen and stage, just as it would have done in ye olden days. Once the organist had finished his work, the royal couple took their seats at the front of the circle, while we riffraff in the stalls looked on, and then we sat down.

    Then who should stroll out on to the stage but Michael Palin (presumably roped in a few minutes earlier) to greet the royal guests and introduce the director, Justin Chadwick, on to the stage. Chadwick then reeled off the names of the people who helped turn his film in to reality and welcomed all of them on to the stage (including the producer whose dress had brought plenty of sniggers from the row behind us). Portman and Johansson were last to appear, walking on arm in arm to loud applause.

    Then finally, the curtains parted and the main event commenced. It was a decent enough costume drama, with plenty of passion and betrayal and lust and beautifully shot locations and stars. It started rather unpromisingly, but by the end you were, if not gripped, then reasonably stirred. The two female stars did very well. I think the script needed more work; the supporting characters mostly felt like cardboard cutouts, despite the best efforts of the cast. It was noticeably shot on Hi-Def and digitally projected, which although incredibly vivid, meant the film lacked a certain cinematic feel. But that’s just me nitpicking I think.

    When the film finished, there was a convincing round of applause, and people started to get up and make their way to the aisles. However, the doors weren’t opened until Charles and Camilla were out of the building, so there was a bit of standing around for 10 minutes or so. Finally the fire exit doors were opened, and in complete contrast to our grand entrance, we were all herded out through the back exit in to a dark and rather dingy alley way on to Charing Cross Road.

    From there, we hurtled back to Kings Cross as fast as we could, missing our train by a matter of seconds. So we were forced to wait for the next one, which was an hour later; I finally opened my front door about 1am. But it was worth it, just to see what the experience was like. Although could someone please tell Charles and Camilla not to keep everyone waiting quite so long next time…?

  • R.I.P. Alien franchise – In Memoriam

    A small note in memory of the Alien film series, which finally passed away this January after a prolonged struggle for life. It led a long and eventful existence, after a violent and bloody birth in 1979; the classic original movie remains a masterpiece of the science fiction and horror genres. It spawned an equally classic sequel in Aliens (1986), which is still unsurpassed in terms of nail-biting sci-fi action and is still much imitated today. Both films were milestones in the careers of their visionary directors, Ridley Scott and James Cameron, and continue to be celebrated to this day by the film community.

    The second sequel, Alien 3 (1992) was greeted with dismay and derision by fans upon its initial release, but with time has steadily grown in popularity and respect and today is much championed by those who relish the bleak tone and atmospheric direction by another visionary, David Fincher. The fourth movie, 1997’s Alien: Resurrection, attempted to restart the series after Alien 3’s apparent conclusion, but failed to grab the imagination of fans. Nevertheless, it was not without its own merits, and it seemed the Alien series could yet live on, if it could find its way in to a loving and expert pair of hands.

    Sadly, after a prolonged bout of middle age spent in the wilderness, the Alien series was spotted by 20th Century Fox execs as having the potential for making a quick buck and, despite the franchise being one of their crown jewels, it was slapped in to a blender with another ageing sci-fi franchise, the Predator series, and handed over to the dismally talentless Paul W.S. Anderson. The resultant offering, Alien vs. Predator (2004), was met with, to say the least, disappointment. The once-frightening monsters of space had been relegated to cheap shocks and naff video-game stunts. Even poor old Lance Henriksen was wheeled out to try and disguise the fact that AvP was just a pale imitation of the glory days of old.

    The fatal blow finally came with the sequel, Aliens vs Predator: Requiem (2007), which was so awful that it somehow managed to make AvP look good. Despite upping the violence and blood quotient, AvPR didn’t have a single brain cell to rub together, flailing about with its appalling script, poor production values and inept direction. This death rattle of a movie only has brevity as its sole plus point.

    The Alien franchise, 1979-2007. No flowers.

  • A U.S. Foreign Policy double-bill (ooh, the excitement)

    Having caught the rather good Charlie Wilson’s War, starring Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts, at the cinema last weekend, it reminded me very much of another film that probed the fallacies of American interventionist foreign policy, but set in a different period: Philip Noyce’s The Quiet American. Taken together, they are pretty different beasts. CWW is a witty, dryly amusing dissection of the origins of American support for Afghan rebels following the Soviet invasion of 1979. It has its sombre moments certainly, but on the whole it’s a satirical piece, and no less meaningful for it.

    The Quiet American on the other hand is a drama, based on the classic Graham Green novel, about America’s increasing involvement in Vietnam in the 1950s. Unlike the more light-hearted approach of CWW, TQA has a sense of doom hanging over the story from the very beginning, when we see a corpse floating in a river. The political context of the film slowly develops, as we meet Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine on superb form), a married London journalist who lives in sin with his Vietnamese lover, Phuong (played by Do Thi Hai Yen). Their relationship turns in to a love triangle following the arrival of a young handsome American doctor, Alden Pyle (Brendan Fraser), who falls in love with the girl and promises to do the right thing by her if she will leave Fowler. Fate intervenes when it emerges Pyle’s reason for being there has a more sinister motive. The relationship between the three characters is a wonderful metaphor for the political situation of the time: Fowler representing the old colonial powers of yesteryear, Pyle the emerging superpower of tomorrow, America, and Phuong the colonised country caught between them, being used for the other countries’ political and economic ends.

    They struck me as being bedfellows because of their examination of American foreign policy, specifically the same policy: to directly or indirectly fund local forces to help bring down a common enemy that is perceived to threaten American interests and security i.e. Communism. Both policies also came back to haunt America of course, in the shape of the Vietnam war and the rise of the Taleban. Of the two films, I preferred the brooding atmosphere of TQA; this is not to slight CWW however, as I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially Philip Seymour Hoffman’s caustic turn as an intelligence adviser.

    So if you fancied an interesting double-bill of movies examining historical foreign policies of the twentieth century, you could do far worse than these two. I can’t say it would make a thrilling night’s entertainment I suppose, but then again one can’t snack on junk food all the time, can one…?

  • More than a guilty pleasure?

    The irony of being a movie fan is that no-one dares buys you any dvds (surely the most obvious of presents for any film geek), in case you already own them. This being the case, I like to take steps to ensure that, come the 25th of December, there will be one or two shiny discs for me under the Christmas tree. A small list of suggestions in the appropriate email inbox usually does the trick, I find.

    This year, at the top of the aforementioned list were a couple of items: one was the Blade Runner 5-disc set, a film which impresses more with every viewing (and there will be plenty more viewings this year, I am certain);  and Transformers, something which will not come as a surprise to anyone who has read any of my earlier posts. I saw it twice at the cinema, and now a third time on my brand new dvd, and all I can say is: here is another film that just gets better with every viewing.

    Now let’s be clear on this. I am in no way comparing Michael Bay’s Transformers to Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. The latter is a masterpeice of cinema and a brilliant work of science-fiction; it treats its audience with intelligence; it dazzles, intrigues, and absorbs. It is a film that MUST be seen more than once to be properly appreciated. Transformers, on the other hand, is a commerical product designed purely to make money, based on toys and a cartoon series that were also products designed purely to make money. But the joy of seeing my childhood heroes come to life on the big screen earlier in the year meant that it was Transformers I was keenest to watch post-Xmas present opening. (In my defence, I had caught Blade Runner: The Final Cut at the cinema a few weeks earlier, so I had no urgent desire to watch it straight away again.)

    So is this post going to be another act of worship at the altar of Cybertron’s finest? Well, possibly. What struck me was that, despite the obvious reduction in screen size, Michael Bay’s film worked just as well at home as it did in the multiplex. In fact, in some ways it worked better: the action is now easier to watch, it’s more intelligible. And because the script concentrated more on the human characters than the robots, the story was ultimately more involving. My original problem with the film was that the Transformers themselves were not the focus of the story, which meant there was precious little characterisation of them. In hindsight though, I think this was the correct decision: it opened the film up to a much wider audience, introducing this new world of TF to fans and newcomers alike. It allowed the audience to share the ‘Wow’ factor that Shia LaBoeuf’s character experienced. And that’s what Tranformers was all about for us kids in the 80s – how ‘Wow’ it all was. It was only later, through the comics and cartoons, that we came to know the characters of the Transformers themselves more intimately, and my hope is that the in-development sequel will shift the focus to them.

    Of course Michael Bay’s film is no masterpiece: it’s too silly to be that. Bay’s direction can still ellicit snorts of derision when he pays too much attention to how wonderful US military hardware looks at sunset. But after three viewings, I think there is genuinely a case to be made that the film is more than a guilty pleasure. It is Fun with a capital F, because, aside from some phenomenal special effects, it has some heart to it – probably the first Bay film to do so. My gut feeling is that Steven Speilberg’s influence as Executive Producer has much to do with that, but I feel nevertheless a little credit should go Bay’s way. Having said that, my dream choice for the director’s chair of the sequel would be James Cameron, who is surely the best action director in Hollywood (except he hasn’t directed anything for 10 years), but I suspect he has bigger fish to fry these days – all-singing, all-dancing, 3-D fish by the sounds of it (the in-production Avatar).

    So anyway, ramble over. I’m a Transformers fan, and I liked the new Transformers movie. Call me nuts if you like, but I’ll take it over the noisy, senseless, migraine-inducing 80s cartoon movie any day. Loved it when I was 10; watching it again a few months ago, I was appalled at how badly it had dated. It might have a certain nostalgic value of course, but in no other way can it compete with the new version. Except some of the Transformers looked cooler in animated form, maybe. Maybe.

  • “‘Twas the night before Christmas…”

    So, Christmas rears its brutish head once again, like a large vicious dog guarding the entrance to the dark and mysterious New Year.

    Hang on – I love Christmas! I’ve no idea where that introduction came from. Perhaps because it’s been ages since I last wrote here and my writing muscles needed a stretch. I think Christmas is great; not just because food and drink happily flow forth and work is banished from the mind, but also because, uniquely, happy memories of childhood are so vividly resurrected you can almost close your eyes and be there. Inevitably, Christmas Day comes and goes and is nothing like the way you remember it, but then really it was always the anticipation of Christmas that made the day itself so exciting. Well, alright, the presents too.

    Part of the traditional seasonal excitement came from the tv of course. First there came the devouring of the Christmas listings magazines (back when there were only two: the BBC’s in the Radio Times, ITV and Channel 4’s in the TV Times). Even before I realised how much I loved films, it was always the big movies that I looked for on each page. Back then of course (cue misty eyes and rose-tinted spectacles), films on TV were far more of an event: we had no video recorder, and cinema trips were extremely infrequent, so TV was really the only place to watch films. This made the big Christmas Day movie a real family event. BBC1 went through a phase of showing Mary Poppins every Christmas Day for several years I think, meaning I am now unable to watch it at any other time of the year (but I love it all the same when I do see it). They then realised that people might like to watch other family films in the post-dinner, post-Queen’s Speech slot, so things like Indiana Jones got aired there instead. ITV meanwhile would stick on a Bond film (again, these were a bit more of an event back then; they would show three Bond films a few days apart, then nothing at all for months).

    Everyone seems to have a film that gets them in the festive mood; Mary Poppins is mine. It has nothing whatsoever to do with Christmas, but the spirit of the film instantly brings out feelings of joy and merriment that nothing else quite can. This can only be a direct result of the BBC’s Yuletide schedulings, but I thank them for it, because it is a wonderful film, full of classic songs, amazing sets and great performances (I would defend the legendary Dick van Dyke with my dying breath, thank you very much). 

    That’s not to say there aren’t other equally great Christmassy films, which are beloved by others in the same way. Mrs. Ark has made the watching of The Muppet’s Christmas Carol a legal requirement of every Christmas Eve. Fine by me, because it’s a fantastic adaptation of the Dickens classic, perfectly capturing the essence of the story whilst sprinkling in the usual zany Henson humour. It’s a Wonderful Life is that other enduring Christmas cinematic institution, and quite rightly tops many lists of great Christmas films. Not feeling suitably festive yet? Whack this in your dvd player close to the big day – you’ll be ready to hug every single family relative by the end.

    There’s plenty of other festive films out there of course, like Miracle on 34th Street, Home Alone, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation… and others that escape me at the moment. And let us not forget real masterpieces like The Snowman – absolutely perfect. One of my own personal favourites is the golden-oldie Tom and Jerry cartoon ‘The Night Before Christmas’, perfect viewing for five minutes on a dark Christmas Eve teatime.

    So much festive spirit! The only problem is – will there be enough time to watch them all before Christmas?

  • Shooting Romania in England (and vice versa)

    Whilst enjoying once again the numerous pleasures of Hammer’s atmospheric 1959 production of Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles (which regrettably never led to further Holmes adventures from the studio), I was struck by the irony of filming locations now and then. Hammer, restricted by comparatively small budgets, were forced to use local spots in and around Surrey to double for Dartmoor – and did a pretty good job of it. For their adaptations of Dracula and Frankenstein, overseas shooting in authentic Eastern or Middle European locations was obviously out of the question, and so for exterior shots they would find suitably menacing nearby woods. Everything else was done inside the studio, which, with the right director, could be just as atmospheric as the real thing, if not more so.

    The irony of all this is that today the exact opposite takes place. In order to recreate Ye Olde England on the cheap, film productions are forced to go to those same Eastern European countries that were once prohibitively expensive. The BBC’s new Robin Hood series is one of many productions currently exploiting this economic route, and many Hollywood films have done the same. Eastern Europe seems to be the location of choice at the moment to film expensive productions, in order to keep costs down. I have noticed in particular that cheapo direct-to-dvd sequels, a seemingly ever-growing trend, have found this method to be the best way to deliver a reasonably good looking sequel on a tight budget. Mimic 3 (Romania) and Lake Placid 2 (Bulgaria) are just two that spring to mind, neither of which I have seen, I hasten to add (possibly a good thing).

    Certainly for fans of these sequels, and presumably the studio bean-counters, the low-cost production economics of Eastern Europe are a godsend. We might never have had the dubious pleasure of watching Lake Placid 2 if the situation were otherwise. On the other hand, it saddens me to think that the BBC can’t find anywhere in England to film their new version of the Robin Hood legend at a reasonable cost. Is this really the case? Is it just economics, or is it perhaps that our country woodland is so sparse now that a suitable location couldn’t be found? Whatever the reason, if Robin Hood can’t be filmed in England, something’s not right.

    But there we go, that’s life I suppose. What intrigues me now is that the Hammer studio is finally resurrected after lying dormant for over 30 years.  Their new production Beyond the Rave will be the first off the assembly line. And after that? Well, perhaps they will turn their attention to that staple of Hammer horror, the humble vampire. And this time, instead of Surrey doubling for Transylvania, it might be more economical to shoot the Carpathian Mountains on location…