I love giallo. It’s a genre very dear to my heart that does a lot of what I love in film. The soundtracks are incredible. The imagery is stunning. The plots all walk a perfectly fine line between cliched tropes and unexpected twists. Some of my absolute favourite films came from this golden era of Italian film-making – from the likes of Argento, Bava, Fulci
In recent years there’s been a gentle revival of interest in the genre. Thankfully it’s not been too wholehearted – I don’t know how I’d have reacted to a mainstream American love for the giallo in the way the Walking Dead has done with zombie films. Instead, its been mostly indie films and niche genre pieces that have returned to the giallo. Cattet and Forzani’s two features Amer and The Strange Colour of Your Body’s Tears are amongst my favourite films of the last few years. Despite this, they’re without doubt sophisitcated reinterpretations of giallo. They have all the stylistic quirks – the leather glove, the singsong soundtrack, the knife, the nightmare, the heavily-mascared eyes – but they play upon all of these to create more complicated, nuanced stoy lines.
How refreshing then to find film-makers taking the giallo film head-on, warts-and-all, in all its glory. Francesca was made last year, but you wouldn’t know it. The film looks aged, the soundtrack clangs and scrapes, the plot is absurd yet chilling, the violence is gruesome and sudden, the police are incompetent and slow. It ticks all the boxes.
If you don’t already love giallo I find it hard to imagine that you’ll be bowled over by this. If you do, though, this is a treat. Martin Grund, the lead fanomenen programmer, described it as “the kind of film you wish Argento was still making”. If you know what that sentence means, I imagine you’ll love this.
Kirkstall Dissolution Extra IPA, another of my favourite beers. The Hyde Park really does have a well stocked bar.
This is a fantastic film. It’s a fantastic film that’s cruelly lacking a distribution deal and isn’t available nearly as widely as it should be. And it’s a film I love.
I first saw this at the Leeds International Film Festival back in 2010. I was a volunteer that year, and apart from the handful of freebie tickets you get for your time, mostly just saw whatever I was sent to work on. This was an eye opener. Some shifts I saw films I’d never have chosen to see (I’ll never forget Año bisiesto, a desperately sad Mexican film of sex and violence or Huacho, a challengingly slow account of a day in the life of Chilean peasant). One of the very best things I saw that year thought was a Norwegian film called the Art of Negative Thinking. It was a really popular one. I saw it from the very front row of the screen in Vue, sat on the floor in the unoccupied wheelchair space with my neck bent right back to see the screen.
It was great. And despite this I couldn’t encourage anyone to see it as its just not available. There are no DVDs. It’s not on Netflix. Nor Amazon Prime. Or anywhere. I just had to sit on this recommendation, mentioning it occasionally but never really being able to show it to anyone. I’m sure your heart bleeds for me. These were hard times.
So how fantastic that the festival has screened it again. And this time, smug passholder that I am, I have the best seat in the house, a good beer, and I’m ready for it. And it’s even better than I remembered. And my neck isn’t sore from watching.
I realise that not a single word of this review has been about the film. I don’t care. The film’s great. That goes without saying. And it’s still unavailable. But if you get the chance you should watch it, you really should.
Drinks Five Points Railway Porter. One of my favourite beers to accompany one of my favourite films.
Having missed this at cinemas a few years ago and never really warmed to the idea of seeing it on a small screen, I was glad that this was given a second airing at the festival. It’s without doubt a pretty cinematic film and deserved to be shown on such as big screen. The soundtrack’s pretty killer too – definitely rewards a good sound system.
I’ll get the criticism out the way upfront. There wasn’t nearly enough driving in this film. Given the central premise, that Gosling is a supremely skilled driver, flitting between stunt driving, criminal getaway driving and race driving, you could be forgiven for expecting a fair bit of car action in this film. Its even called Drive, for heaven’s sake. We was robbed. After a pretty great opening sequence, all criminal driving flair to avoid the cops, we’re treated to one single measly car chase. And it’s not even as good as the opening sequence. That makes this film the equivalent of a Bond movie in which all the spy action takes place before the opening credits.
This is a shame. The rest of the film is fine. It’s mob justice, gang violence and petty thuggery tied up around a slender love/like story between Gosling, his neighbour and his neighbour’s permanently unlucky husband. It’s interesting enough, has some good and funny moments, and barrels along at a decent pace but it’s nothing all that special. Although maybe I’m just bitter the lack of driving.
A stylish film, an enjoyable film, a cinematic film, but one that never quite lives up to its potential.
Wylam Pieces of What a tasty IPA from what I remember – though it obviously wasn’t striking enough to have made much of an impression on me. Maybe I ought to give this one another go…
Scarlett Johansson turns up in all sorts of weirdness. I quite respect her for that. There’s no doubt she could cruise from one major budget gentle drama to the next but she definitely has a nose for the weirder films. She turns up in everything from The Avengers to Vicky Christina Barcelona. And she was great in Luc Besson’s Lucy. She’s not bad here either, embracing her alien-in-a-transit-van-scouring-Scotland-to-devour-lonely-men role. You can say many things about her, but typecast is certainly not one of them!
And I wanted to love this. On paper its striking all the right notes. Aliens! A bit of horror! Scarlett Johansson! And it does start well. The preying upon lone men is a neat twist on the usual slasher movie niche – suddenly it’s not the dishevelled girl with smudged make-up who’s the obvious victim but the electrician, who lives alone and is just heading to the shops. It’s disarmingly different and quite interesting for it. Sadly, it just never really picks up and gets going. The first half hour or forty minutes whizzes by but then it just splutters and peters out. Questions are left unanswered but, far from being intriguing, I’m struggling to care. Who is this alien? Why are they here? What are they doing? … Who cares? It just fails to really grab you and get you involved.
A disappointing film. Lots of potential but little to show for it.
Renaissance Stonecutter, a hearty ‘Scotch ale’ – very appropriate for the film. I didn’t know what to expect with this one but it was tasty. Big and red and fruity, I definitely want to give this another try,
It’s The Matrix. The Matrix. I don’t know if there’s any point writing any more words – those two say plenty.
It’s obviously a stone-cold classic. Its unforgettable action sequences influenced heaps of other action films and games, the memorable quotes stick pretty hard in your head (“I know king-fu”) and it was just so damn cool. Let’s pretend that they never made any more, that they never spoilt the legacy of the film with the crappy sequels, and focus on that one film: it’s a beautifully well-rounded sci-fi action movie. It’s got enough explosions, kicks to the head and machine-gun fire to keep the action fan happy. It’s got enough dystopian, pseudo-philosophical gibberish to keep the sci-fi fan happy.
I grew up watching The Matrix on VHS. I remember re-winding it to watch Neo and Trinity demolish the guards on repeat (“We need guns. Lots of guns”). Somewhere beyond the end of the feature was a documentary on how they filmed ‘bullet-time’. I watched it till the tape was worn. I’m obviously a long way from being able to form sensible critical opinions on this film: I love it and I’m very grateful to the Leeds International Film Festival for screening it on the massive great screen in the town hall.
I don’t know. It was something tasty I got from the beer place in the Corn Exchange. But in my Matrix excitement I completely forget what.
Documentary time! And off we go to the Faroe isles to watch them hunt and eat. This is not one for the squeamish. Birds and whales are stabbed, sliced and torn apart left right and centre by the islanders as they hunt. It’s pretty gruesome in places but it’s not out of cruelty – this is how they get their food. They’re pretty frank about how little grows on the island.
Unfortunately, it’s not just accusations of animal cruelty they have to fend off. It turns out that their choice meat, Pilot Whale, is so high up the food chain that the pollutants of the sea are concentrated in them, leading to dangerously high levels of mercury. It’s a threat that’s causing them to ask serious questions over their identity and traditions. The film sensibly doesn’t really take sides but just listens to the opinions of the islanders. So we hear from the Doctor who’s pushing hardest against whale meat consumption – he makes it clear that he realises how at odds with their tradition it is, but that his conscience won’t let him stay silent – and from the fisherman, with high levels of mercury in his blood, who happily munches whale meat and eats it with his children. Whilst it’s hard not to side with the scientist, both sides are portrayed sensitively and fairly – you really can understand why they’re so resistant to being told that a central part of their food culture should be abandoned.
The only people who really come off poorly in this are the Sea Shepherd crew who arrive to protest the Whale hunt. Having arrived to tell the islanders not to hunt whales they’re well prepared for whizzing about in their snazzy boat but woefully underprepared for the important part of actually convincing people: at a painful press conference they buckle under the islanders questions (“What should we eat instead” “Ideally vegetables” “…Er… Not much grows here. What should we eat?” “…”)
It’s a fascinating view into the islands. An absolute treat of a documentary.
Pressure Drop Syd Strong, this is quite a find! One of the best of the festival so far – a rye IPA with a massive punch. Highly recommended.
It’s Aliens. Aliens. One of the most iconic sci-fi films you could hope for. I first saw this one at a midnight screening at the Hyde Park Picture House. We went on a whim after seeing the flyers in the Hyde Park Social and I loved it. From Ripley’s general kick-ass demeanour, through Newt’s ability to be the only not-totally-irritating-child in the history of cinema to the fantastic, unforgettable, astonishing aliens this is a classic on every level.
And its so well paced. A week into film festival viewing I’ve got little tolerance left for wasted minutes. Any film that nudges towards the 2 hour mark and can’t easily justify it gets a mark down in my book. I’ve seen great stories told in 69 minutes. Why do you need 2 hours? But the 2 hours of Aliens flies past at breathless pace.
I don’t think there’s any point me adding any more words here. If you’ve seen it, you know what I mean. If you haven’t, stop reading now and go and see it!
Brewdog Punk IPA. Its sold everywhere now. The hipster in me instinctively sneers at this – it seems somehow less interesting – but this isn’t them selling out, this is them winning. They never set out to be small time artisan batch-brewery, they set out to take on the big guns at their own game and make better beer. So really, seeing Brewdog on the shelves of Tesco is a good thing.
This wasn’t one I’d had on my own list. I saw the words Fukushima, disaster, coping, sadness and other similar terms and decided to give it a wide berth. I like a film with a bit of sadness. But misery? I’ll usually give that a miss. Despite this I heard nothing but good things about it and decided to go to the re-screening.
As with so many others of the festival, this is an odd one. A German woman arrives a Fukushima, ready to perform as a clown to lift the displaced locals’ spirits. I mean… what? She speaks no Japanese and her clowning is pretty rudimentary. She quickly begins to question her decision. I really don’t want to give too much away but what follows is quite beautiful. It’s a tale if guilt and loss, of loneliness and companionship, and of pride and humility. It’s no surprise that parts of it are very sad – what did you expect from a film about Fukushima? – but it’s fascinating throughout. I obviously have no real sense of its authenticity but as a peek into Japanese life in the post-disaster region its an eye opener.
Five Points‘ Railway Porter. Rounding out my Five Points drinking with my favourite of their beers. This is the one that made me aware of Five Points, several years ago at the Leeds Beer Festival. It’s a perfectly balanced porter and, without doubt, one of my favourite beers.
I’m far from being a film student. The bits and pieces of film knowledge I have are things I’ve picked up here and there – from a documentary, from an article, or just by watching a bunch of films. Even so, even with relatively little actual knowledge of the history and the technical details, I know what I like. And I like the Nouvelle Vague. Everything I’ve seen from the French movement has been fascinating, thought-provoking or just straight-up beautiful. And Cleo, from 5 to 7 is no exception at all. This film is beautiful.
Once again, it’s a big thank you to both the Film Festival and the Hyde Park Picture House. This is a film that was made for a cinema, especially a cinema as majestic as our beloved HPPH. It just screams cinematic at you.
As the camera ducks and weaves between doorways, glass and mirrors, we study two hours in the life of Cleo, a young Parisian singer, flitting idly from one distraction to the next as she awaits her test results from the hospital. There’s not really much of a story here but… this isn’t a film that cares about a story. It’s all about fur hats, strawberries in water, street-entertainers swallowing frogs, posing nude for sculptors and promenading in the park. To call this a film of style over substance would be both on the mark and to miss the point. The style is the substance, and it’s glorious.
Another film too early in the day to justify a beer, so just a cup of tea with this one. Although, as Cleo sipped a cognac in a Parisian cafe I’d have happily swapped my tea for a brandy too.
Music documentaries have always been one of LIFF’s strong points, so I was looking forward to Arctic Superstar a lot. The story of Sly Craze, Norway’s first (and only?) professional Sami rapper, is told over 90 minutes or so and is never less than enthralling. And so, so cute. Although I don’t imagine he’d thank me for saying that.
Sly lives at home in Masi with his mother. His hometown is only 250 people. His band mates work at the local convenience store (“I can’t go on tour. I have a job. Here in Masi”). And this is only the beginning: signed to Oslo based Pug Life records, Sly is off on tour. It’s heart-wrenchingly sad to see him playing a school hall to a crowd of about 5 people (“It was a good gig, but a shame that only a few people came… And they were all on the guestlist”). But Arctic Superstar isn’t taking the piss. If it was, it’d be a nasty, exploitative little piece but it’s far from it. Instead, this is a sensitive telling of their stories. Sly is frank about the difficulties of rapping in a language that basically no-one else understands. It’s laudable that its a goal he clings to and there’s no doubt at all that his heart is in it. He might talk about chasing the money of fame and success but this is far from the easiest route to it. He raps because he loves it, and his enthusiasm is infectious.
Er… I think it was the Northern Monk Strannik Export Stout. Too much, really. At 10% this is one that tasted more of alcohol than of beer…