The Geezer with the Fabulous Hair: Masculinity in The Mighty Boosh

According to Steve Neale, 'heterosexual masculinity has been identified as a structuring norm in relation to both images of women and gay men. It has to that extent been profoundly problematised, rendered visible' (Neale in Cohan and Hark 1993, p.9). This reveals a problem in discussing masculinity; such analysis has sought to define itself in opposition to masculinity without defining masculinity. How then do we analyse the proliferation of these ideas within popular culture? This question may be answered in part by different ways of thinking about masculinity and femininity. Maurice Berger, Brian Wallis and Simon Watson ask; 'can the univalent notion of masculinity be replaced by the idea of multiple masculinities in which rigid boundaries of sexual and gender representation are blurred and even redrawn?' (Berger, Wallis and Watson 1995, p.3). Judith Butler sees gender not as an innate idea but rather a performance of certain cultural notions (Butler, cited in Berger, Wallis and Watson 1995, p.5). If we think of masculinity and femininity as a performance, one of the most obvious ways to view this performance of gender within popular culture is within film and television. To what extent can a television series like The Mighty Boosh provide an insight into masculinity? Can The Mighty Boosh be seen as a new or emerging representation of masculinity, or does it have a firm place in the historical, social and cultural representations of masculinity and if so, in what way?

The Mighty Boosh (BBC Three, 2004- ) is a British television series based on the stand-up comedy written and performed by comedians Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. The series draws on surreal comedy and imagery, combining rear projection techniques with computer-generated effects and two-dimensional animation. Throughout the series, the protagonists Howard T.J. Moon (Barratt) and Vince Noir (Fielding) have failed in their attempts to become boxers, novelists, adventurers, and musicians. The protagonists make for an odd couple: Howard is from Leeds, loves jazz and considers himself to be incredibly intelligent, while Vince is from South London, loves electro and is a dedicated follower of fashion.

Vince is obsessed with his hair, and is often seen wearing make-up and a combination of men and women's clothing. His ambiguous status is constantly referred to within the show. He is often mistaken for a woman and is either the object of unwanted affection or assumed to be Howard's wife or girlfriend. He is continually assaulted with derogatory female terms, such as bitch, 'tramp with a fringe' and 'futuristic prostitute', or with labels meant to undermine his masculinity, such as 'French Duke', 'cockney bitch', 'rock ponce', 'electro ponce', and 'trendy modern wanker'. Vince himself makes mention of his confusing sexual identity. At Howard's birthday party, Howard tells Vince that after his continual failures with women he will 'go gay', assuring Vince that he does not fancy him. Vince responds with:


"Of course you do! All men do! I'm The Confuser. 'Is it a man, is it a woman, oh, I'm not sure I mind!' ('Party' 2007)."

In her brief analysis of 'the unruly woman' in the television sitcom, Jane Feuer makes note of the power of characters within a particular programme to transcend the constraints placed upon them by the narrative:

"If we merely look at the sitcom's 'narrative architecture', no sitcom can be transgressive because the episodic format forces us to return to the familiar status quo with which this week's episode began. In order to perceive subversion, we must look at something besides narrative closure...these are the moments that one remembers (Feuer in Creeber 2001, p.68)."

At the generic and narrative level, The Mighty Boosh has a firm place within the realm of the sitcom. Despite its storylines filled with surreal adventures and even stranger characters (mutant animals, demon grandmothers, half-man half-fish kidnappers, cockney monsters), the series still follows the 'narrative architecture' of 'familiar status quo, ritual error made, ritual lesson learned, familiar status quo' (Feuer in Creeber 2001, p.69), with each episode beginning and ending in one location, Howard and Vince's position in their world the same position as before. To find moments of subversion within the formulaic world of the sitcom we must look beyond the ways in which these elements are contained and constrained within the text.

Though many characters within the world of The Mighty Boosh present many interesting insights into the masculine (and feminine) world, it is the character of Vince Noir that appears to present a clear subversion masculinity, which presents a man characterised by his activity, strength and aggression. Film theories such as that of Laura Mulvey conceive masculinity as being aligned with the active subject who propels and directs the narrative (Mulvey in Thornham 1999, p.62), and femininity as being aligned with the passive object of male desire.

Vince's positioning as an object, as spectacle, within the series gives some voice to this notion mentioned above. Male characters within the show mistake him for a woman, with more than one viewing him as a sexual object. Vince continually places himself in a position to be looked at. In the episode 'Call of the Yeti', he parades the outfits he is taking on holiday for Bollo's approval. In 'The Priest and the Beast' he draws attention to himself and his body with a skintight jumpsuit which he calls 'the mirror-ball suit'. He wears this again in subsequent episodes, along with even more revealing suits. In 'Party', he declares the purpose of the party is for the crowd to 'bask in the glory of my outfit'. Vince himself is obsessed with his own image, confusing a man frozen under the ice with his own reflection ('Tundra' 2004), reflecting that it would not be a bad thing to be trapped in a world of mirrors ('Bollo' 2004), and becomes depressed when he discovers someone else is copying his style ('The Power of the Crimp' 2007).

To characterise Vince and indeed women in film and television in this way is problematic. Firstly, it negates the power of the woman or the feminine character to direct the male gaze, which Vince does on several occasions. In 'Bollo', as Howard begins his soliloquy from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Vince directs the camera to him, assuring the audience that if the viewer tires of Howard's thoughts on life and death they can press the red button on their remote control to see Vince dancing to Bollywood music, dressed as a hedgehog. In 'Eels', Vince addresses the camera to reveal a plot device yet to be revealed to Howard. Secondly, it suggests that Vince is passive, which is not the case. He is often the masculine active subject, moving the narrative forward. On several occasions he must rescue Howard, making reference to this when he tells Byran Ferry he will probably have to go and save Howard, because 'pretty much every week he gets in danger, and I have to go and sort it out. that's how the show works' ('The Hitcher' 2004).

We can see that these binary conceptions of masculinity and femininity are limiting as they do not account for a multitude of representations of masculinity. A closer examination of the character of Vince Noir reveals his place within particular representations of masculinity. At various points within the series, Vince takes on the characteristics of subcultures that have historically emerged as a challenge to popular conceptions of masculinity, such as Mods, Goths and Punks. The representation he is most recognisably aligned with, however, is that of glam rock.

Glam rock, according to Jon Stratton, was a period in which ' music was the site of performance, the moment of interaction between image and the individual, fantasy and the reality of everyday life' (Stratton, viewed 01 September 2008, http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn,). Stratton goes on to note that glam rock's emphasis on performance and image became a site for the questioning of gender:

"...The assumed determination of the social and the sexual by gender was being called into question for males in a number of different ways. Roles were increasingly being recognised as socially constituted images and the male image and its associated sexuality were reciprocally being called into question. Glam rock condensed the problem of reality as image with the problem of sexual identity as image. It enabled to be acted out, as I have remarked before, a set of problems which were not class-based but were embodied in a more general cultural context. Glam rock was the first British subculture to be concerned principally with the problem of sexuality (Stratton, viewed 01 September ,http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn)."

It can be argued, then, that glam rock allowed for a new representation of masculinity to emerge from a particular moment in society. The role of women was changing, forcing men to question masculinity and what it means to be male. Vince's allegiance to the world of glam rock can be seen in his appearance, his interest in fashion and his ambiguous sexual identity. Glam rock's focus on performance reveals the performative nature of masculinity and gender. That this representation is again taken up in the twenty-first century in the character of Vince Noir may reflect Western culture's awareness of the blurring of gender and its functions in contemporary society.

Andrew Spicer suggests that particular cultural types have meanings which change over time to suit the vision of 'masculinity that is most desirable or widely acceptable. To achieve hegemony, types need to readjust ceaselessly to changing conditions' (Spicer 2001, p.3). Spicer sees these cultural types as 'the staple representation of gender in popular fiction because they are easily recognisable and condense a range of important attitudes and values' (Spicer 2001, p.1):
[They] allow us to understand gender in Foucauldian terms, as a cultural 'performance', which does not reflect 'reality' but is a discursive construction, the product of variable and historically specific sets of relations within particular contexts, and with a complex relationship to social change (Spicer 2001, p.2).

These representations of masculinity can arise out of a dissatisfaction with previous representations as well as responding to a societal need. If contemporary Western culture is again unsure of the role of men in society, one answer may be to look to a representation of masculinity that has previously attempted to assuage this confusion. It may be working, as Vince's adoption of the glam rock aesthetic has earned his creator Noel Fielding the title of 'Sexiest Male' and 'Best Dressed' at the recent New Musical Express (NME) awards (NME, viewed 31 August 2008, http://www.nme.com/news/nme/34784).

In light of the examination of the changing nature of masculinity and its representation within popular culture, the character of Vince Noir can be viewed as much more than either a challenge or a reinforcement of normative notions of masculinity. Rather, he can be seen as an embodiment of the evolution of masculinity and the way in which representations within the culture, and cultural texts such as film and television, are readjusted according to a particular historical, social and cultural context. This can be seen in the relationship of Vince Noir to the subculture of glam rock, in which masculinity and sexual identity is questioned through performance. Vince can be seen to some extent as embodying Spicer's Rogue, a cultural type who is 'best placed to adjust to rapidly changing social conditions and 'get away with it' against various regulations, restrictions authoritarian institutions' (Spicer 2001, p.102). It may be Vince's role as the Rogue that allows him to get away with performing several masculine roles. This allows him to play the role of traditional hero, rescuing his 'damsel in distress' while indulging in the performance of an androgynous masculinity. It is this embodiment of multiple representations of masculinity that may allow Vince Noir to become a new representation, one which allows for an open interpretation of cultural expectations.

Bibliography

Books
Berger, M, Wallis, B & Watson, S (Eds) 1995, Constructing Masculinity, Routledge, New York.

Bennett, T, Boyd-Bowman, S, Mercer, C & Woollacott, J (Eds) 1981, Popular Television and Film, British Film Institute, London.

Cohan, S & Hark, IR (Eds) 1993, Screening the Male: Exploring Masculinities in Hollywood Cinema, Routledge, London.

Creeber, G (Ed) 2001, The Television Genre Book, British Film Institute, London.

Hartley, J 1992, Tele-ology: Studies In Television, Routledge, London.

Horrocks, R 1994, Masculinity in Crisis, The Macmillan Press, London.

Online sources

New Musical Express, 'Shockwaves NME Awards 2008: Noel Fielding voted Sexiest Man', NME, viewed 01 September 2008, http://www.nme.com/news/nme/34784.

Spicer, A 2001, 'Fools and Rogues', Typical Men: The Representation of Masculinity in Popular British Cinema, I.B. Tauris, viewed 31 August 2008, http://books.google.com.au/books?id=oOw0xU-1rNcC.

Stratton, J 1986, 'Why doesn't anybody write anything about Glam Rock?', Australian Journal of Cultural Studies, Vol. 4 no. 1, viewed 01 September 2008, http://humanities.curtin.edu.au/schools/MCCA/ccs/AJCS_journal/J4V1/J4V1Why%20doesn.

Mills, B 2008, ' 'Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me': Peep Show, sitcom, and the surveillance society', Screen, vol. 49, No. 1, pp.51-64, viewed 31 August 2008, Oxford Journals.

Television

The Mighty Boosh 2004-2007, television, British Broadcasting Company, London.

The Woman Behind the Naked Buddha

This was my major assignment for Professional Writing. I can't be arsed proofing it, so I thought I'd leave it as a symbol of my personal journey as a writer. Blech!

Please to enjoy...

The best piece of advice Adrienne Howley can give to people is to write your life story. It doesn’t matter whether it seems uninteresting, or lacking in adventure. Just write it down.
Unfortunately, her own advice is a little bit hard to take. Adrienne is having trouble writing her autobiography. The problem? She has simply done too much in her life. For a fledgling writer, the problem of having too much material to choose from seems a wonderful problem to have. Perhaps Adrienne’s problem is that she has had so many wild and wonderful adventures.

When I first met Adrienne she was a fellow university student, and had already written a book on Buddhism, The Naked Buddha (the follow-up to this book, The Naked Buddha Speaks, was published in 2002). Adrienne has been coping with visual impairment for several years now, and walks with a cane. Despite her disability, she has written books, attended university, and still volunteers part-time for the Respite Volunteers for Palliative Care In Maitalnd.

When we meet again for an interview, Adrienne is now a graduate of the University of Newcastle, having completed a Bachelor of Arts with a major in Philosophy. When I called to confirm the interview the previous day, she told me she was taking me to one of her favourite places for lunch. She guides me to the Heritage Café in the main street of Maitland, overlooking the river. Amazingly, she knows the way from memory.



Adrienne now lives in Lorn but grew up in South Yarra, Victoria. When she was seven years old, she suffered what she tells me was the greatest tragedy of her life. Her mother took her and her brother to Sydney, leaving her father, a talented musician, in Victoria. She would not see him again until she was a teenager.

A difficult childhood followed, and at one point, Adrienne and her brother were sent to an orphanage after her mother was detained by police regarding an incident in which her mother attacked a lover. “One day [the police] came to the school and picked us up, and nobody told us why. I thought my mother and father must be dead.

“We had no idea why we were there, and we were kept in separate orphanages,” she says. “One day my mother came and got me, and dressed me up beautifully, and then we went to Baulkham Hills and got my brother. Still, no word, no explanation…you never knew what was going to happen to you”, she says. “Don’t ever put me in a position where I can’t ask questions”.

Adrienne later became a nurse, enlisting in the Australian Army Medical Women’s Service. She was discharged in 1943 after getting married, and her flair for writing was evident even then. “The first novel I wrote was when I was in the Army, and as I wrote another chapter the others would join me in the mess hut to hear the next exciting chapter.”


Adrienne continued nursing, and it was her nursing career that put her in touch with the Australian poet Dorothea McKellar. “She loved to talk, and one day I asked if I could write her biography if I could get enough material and she said, ‘if you like, Sister dear, if you think anyone would be interested’, and the last two-and-a-half years of her life I was her private nurse.” In 1989, she published My Heart, My Country: The Story of Dorothea McKellar.

Adrienne’s difficult childhood contributed to her need for the world to make sense, and her quest for the meaning of life not only informed her writing but changed her life in the process. Her search had yielded unsatisfactory results until her son left a book on her table, telling her, “here, mother, read something decent for a change.” That book was The Teachings of the Compassionate Buddha.

It was one of the Buddha’s final teachings – “don’t believe a word I have said just because I said it, out of respect for me: investigate, investigate, investigate” – that signalled the end of her search and in 1982, Adrienne was ordained a Buddhist nun by the Dalai Lama, an honour that had never before been bestowed on a western woman. At 57 years of age, she was the oldest of her group to receive her orders, but she credits her age with her ongoing commitment to Buddhist teachings, as only two people who took their vows with her that day are still practising Buddhist nuns. His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, congratulated her, nudging her in the chest and telling her, “it is good to see an older person taking vows”.

In 1964, Adrienne was faced with a great challenge when she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. “On Christmas Eve morning I got a phone call from [the surgeon], and he said my test was positive and I asked what does that mean? And he said an operation. I said when, and he said immediately”.

After the operation, Adrienne was told she may only have two to seven years to live, and this lead her to a big adventure. “That’s when I began to slowly think about, what do I want to do with these last few years, if that’s what I’ve got? And I wanted to use every faculty to the utmost before I go”.

While living in a small flat in Elizabeth Bay, Adrienne looked out and saw, “what to everyone else was a pain in the back, but what I thought was the most beautiful little boat I had ever seen”. She made her son find out who owned the boat, and he found the owner. She made a deal to sell her own yacht, which was bigger and probably better, and pay her own way if she could be his crew. After cooking him dinner under sail, he said yes.

Adrienne seems to light up when she talks about her momentous sailing trip. She left Sydney Harbour on April 3, 1968 in a 36ft gaffed rigged cutter that “looked about a hundred years old.” Everyone had told her the owner of the boat, her captain, was mad, but when she heard this she would say airily, “isn’t everyone who sails in a small boat mad?” She didn’t know then exactly how mad her “brave captain” would turn out to be. His name was Harry, but she rarely refers to him by name.

The trip, which took over four years to complete, included making friends with pirates in Indonesia (“I met a lovely girl pirate. Her father was building her her very own boat”), brushes with the law in Lombok (“we got away because they didn’t know what to make of us”), and running out of food down the east coast of Africa. With a captain who wouldn’t listen to her directions, Adrienne had little to do but cry. “It got to the point where I just couldn’t talk from all the crying. I’d open my mouth, and out the tears would come”. Before reaching land, they had to deal with a rotten sail, 1 litre of petrol, a broken engine and no wind. Things were so desperate that she began throwing bottles overboard with messages in them, convinced that it would be the only way she could ever contact her sons again.

Adrienne’s often difficult trip was made worse by her captain. His paranoia, which she chalks up to an inferiority complex, kept him from teaching her how to navigate, as he was convinced that once she knew how to handle the boat she would push him overboard. After hearing of how he tried to attack her one night with a hammer, I begin to think she should have thrown him overboard.

Instead, she chose a more diplomatic measure. She convinced him she was a witch. As he was often below deck, Adrienne had a much better idea of what the weather would be like, and she told him she could control the weather using some ‘Tuscan spells’. She says, “he would hear me scratching on the deck and stamping my feet and he’d say, ‘what are you doing?’ and I’d say, ‘look, it’s just necessary that I do all this to get a wind’. You

know if there’s calm, there’s going to be a wind eventually. And of course when the wind came along, who did it? I did”.

He was so impressed with Adrienne’s sailing skills he proposed to her. She politely declined. She told him, “no, thank you, my brave captain”. Then she adds, “if I married you I would throw you over the side”. Once they were back in Sydney, she was determined to never see him again.

After hearing about this voyage at sea and all of the other amazing things that have happened in her life, I tell Adrienne that I’m beginning to understand why she’s having trouble writing her autobiography. The trip around the world in itself is enough to fill a book. Or at least, it would make for a great film.
As I bid Adrienne farewell, I watch her steady progress along the Belmore Bridge and I am struck by all the things Adrienne has accomplished, most of these while dealing with a disability. At 81, her future plans include learning how to use the computer and making the leap from writing non-fiction to fiction. And finally writing that autobiography.

Mother Superior Jumped the Gun

I love music, but I don’t have the technical skills to talk about it (or make it). I can’t talk in guitar fills, hi-hat snares, distortion, and varispeeding. I can’t remember how to record a rhythm track on a location sound recording kit and mix it to a stereo pair. I know how to record sound on a Marantz and import it into Protools, where it will look like a pretty block I can cut and play with until it sounds good.

But what I can do is talk about how music makes me feel. I know it’s a digression, as I usually use this page to talk about film, but when people get tired of listening to you talk about music, and the only person who doesn’t hates your all-time favourite band (well, one of them), what else can you do but blog?

The following is a selection of songs that have affected me over the years, and some that continue to affect me.

Eight Days a Week – The Beatles

I recently read a book called The Rough Guide to the Beatles, and the author was dismissive of this simple love song, which is a mistake. I hate that guy in general. Underwhelmed by Across the Universe, scornful of Ringo’s solo efforts, always at pains to point out George’s cold appraisal of his work with the Beatles, I wonder if he likes his subjects at all. Yet it was a fascinating read and has inspired in me a love for the Fab Four that had waned even if it had never wavered.

Which leads me back to the first Beatles song I loved intensely. It was my mum’s favourite song and I remembered a shopping trip which involved her trawling the music collections at all the department stores looking for the album that contained this song (Beatles For Sale, Mum). We couldn’t find it anywhere, until she picked up Anthology 1 at Kmart at Waratah. It has an alternative take of the song which features a vocal intro and outro, rather than the guitar track that appears on the album version and the greatest hits compilation 1962-1966 (known as the Red Album). We listened to it over and over.

When my mum died in 1998 from a lung disease, it was the only song I wanted to hear. I still play it on important anniversaries, and I fully intend on walking down the aisle to it (shut up). I hear it and I’m back in the car with Mum on that night, listening to it as we drive home.

It appears perhaps to the casual observer a flimsy pop song. Lyrics like, ‘ooh I need your love, babe, guess you know it’s true. Hope you need my love, babe. Just like I need you’, and ‘hold me, love me, hold me, love me, I ain’t got nothing but love, babe, eight days a week’. Apparently the Beatles themselves didn’t think it was that important either, never playing it live. But mum loved it and so do I.

Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley

Have you ever heard a song so hauntingly beautiful you burst into tears? It’s probably this song, and more likely this version. Jeff Buckley was an amazingly talented singer-songwriter, and my friend was telling me yesterday that his first EP, a live recording, was so sophisticated musically that she couldn’t believe it was his debut.

The song was originally penned by Leonard Cohen (You have to listen to Tower of Song at least once in your life. It’ll change it for the better, I assure you), and it's heavy with the bitterness of an abandoned child. To me, it’s a song about feeling abandoned by God, and Buckley imbues these amazing lyrics with a raw anguish that makes you want to curl up and cry yourself to sleep.

Vapid US teen drama series can’t even wring all of the emotion out of this song. Every time Hallelujah was played in the OC I cried. Funnily enough, I didn't cry a lot when Marissa died, but that was probably because it was Imogen Heap’s inferior cover that provided the score for Mischa's exit from the series.

Another version that will make you cry is one by John Cale. It was featured in Shrek and an episode of Scrubs (the one in which J.D., Eliot and Turk all lose patients), and it’s heavy piano sound instantly reminds you of Nick Cave. Oh, lordy. If Nick Cave ever did a cover of Hallelujah I don’t think I could handle it. I’d never get out of bed again.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side – The Smiths

Touted as a story of Morrissey’s homosexual tendencies, this plea for popular and critical praise was the first song I ever heard and thought, this is The Smiths? Why exactly have I loathed them all these years?

You see, I was once a non-believer. I dismissed The Smiths as music for people who think they’re too clever to be emo. Boy, was I wrong. My friend did try to warn me. A couple of months ago I sent her a text message telling her I was wrong to criticise Morrissey and company, but alas, it was an old mobile number. I received a reply informing me it was someone else’s number. Sniff.

How did I discover the power of this song? Episode three of one the best British television series ever, Blackpool (never mind Viva Blackpool. We don’t speak of it), featured some of the best music of the entire series, nay the entire history of music. Slade and Elvis Costello featured, but the crème de la crème was Morrissey’s ode to being slagged off on the radio.

The sequence has to be experienced; I can’t really put it into words here. I hear the song and I can see David Tennant dancing. It’s heavenly, I assure you. Morrissey’s plaintive cry, ‘and if they don’t believe me now, will they ever believe me?’ stays with you long after the song has moved on. It made me want to hear every other song by the Smiths and its power over me hasn’t wavered. It’s also on what I think is one of the greatest albums of all time (rubbing shoulders with Unknown Pleasures, Hunky Dory and Abbey Road), The Queen is Dead.

Love Will Tear Us Apart/Dead Souls – Joy Division

When I purchased the limited edition of Closer, I noticed that the sleeve notes had interviews with the remaining members of the band. One of them, can’t remember who it was (I want to say Peter Hook, but perhaps it was Bernard Sumner), in an almost dismissive tone deemed Love Will Tear Us Apart a pop song. I was insulted. First of all, why must a pop song necessarily be meaningless, or less important than other music (I did a course about popular music. Well, I started it. I dropped out)? It was the first Joy Division song I had ever heard and I thought it was beautiful. I still remember the clip Rage would show.

I was slow to get into Joy Division (I know, I know) and I hadn’t heard Dead Souls before I saw Control. In the film, during a performance of Dead Souls Ian Curtis has a seizure. The line between his exalted movement and his epilepsy rearing its head is handled with such skill. The song too is amazing. Curtis’s vocal on the chorus ‘they keep calling me, keep on calling me!’ is so full of fear and vulnerability. The live disc of the limited edition makes me even more devastated that I will never see Joy Division live. Or The Smiths. Or The Beatles. How utterly heartbreaking.

Skin Storm - Morrissey

In my downloading travails (waste of time, energy and computer memory), a night spent trawling through Morrissey's sprawling back catalogue threw up this little gem about something Morrissey has referred to in the press as, 'one small distasteful aspect'; yep, Skin Storm is about sex. Or rather, making sweet love by the fire.

That someone who has appeared for the most part of a couple of decades completely uninterested in sex could write such a tender, poignant song about it is endlessly fascinating. Scratch the surface and you'll find it's more an exploration of the joy of feeling needed by another human being, the line 'And I've never felt so wanted, than when you cling with arms and legs' will make you want to grab your partner and shag them immediately. Or, you know, make you feel incredibly depressed about being single. Either way, this song is proof that Morrissey's not all doom and gloom (and even when he is, he's enormously entertaining).

Cold Turkey – John Lennon

When that nerve-jangling guitar starts, you know you’re in for a bumpy ride with this song. Each note serves to set your teeth on edge, as Lennon’s harrowing tale of drug withdrawal begins with the line, ‘Temperatures rising, fever is high. Can't see no future, can't see no sky’, and spiralling to him screaming in pain. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end every time I listen to it.

This may be the shortest paragraph for the most affecting song I've ever heard, but I really do feel this song has to be experienced to feel the full force of it. Nothing I write here will do the song justice.

Life On Mars? – David Bowie

My love for this exploration of, well, I don’t really know – writer’s block? The need to constantly reproduce one aspect of your sound in order to gain mainstream success? Maybe Bowie really wants to know if there’s life on Mars? Anyway.

My fascination with this song began with its exclusion in any Singstar battle with my friends, was tickled by the Flight of the Conchords poignant tribute to Bowie (Bowie’s in space, Bowie’s in space, what you doing out there, man? That’s pretty freaky Bowie. What’s a rock musician doing out in space, man’), and was seared in my memory with the following scene:

DCI Sam Tyler, a police officer, drives down a highway, struggling with the disappearance of Maya, his estranged girlfriend, a fellow detective working on a case with him. Unable to contain his grief, he pulls over to the side of the road, near a bypass. We hear the sounds of Life On Mars, by David Bowie, playing on his Ipod. He gets out of the car and leans on the passenger side. Out of frustration, he bangs the door frame and turns to walk away. As he does, he is hit by a speeding car. Lying on the road, the car pulled up in the distance, we see him struggling to maintain consciousness. He closes his eyes. The music continues as we see his eyes open. He sits up, and he is in the middle of an ongoing construction. His dress has changed. When he closed his eyes he was wearing a tailored black suit. Now he is wearing wide-legged trousers, Cuban heels, a wide-collared shirt and a black leather jacket. Through all this, the music continues. Through his confusion, he stumbles to a nearby car. He sees Life On Mars is now playing not through his Ipod but through an eight-track tape.

A scuffle with a police officer reveals he is DI Sam Tyler, no longer a DCI. He has transferred to Manchester from Hyde. He turns from the police officer and sees a sign that chills him; it is announcing the construction of the bypass.

Not my best effort, but whatever. Apparently I don’t know how to write treatments that well, anyway. If you know exactly what I’m describing, let’s talk. If not, it’s the one of the opening scenes of the BBC Wales production Life On Mars. It’s the story of Sam Tyler, who after being hit by a car imagines he is a cop in 1973. They only made two seasons, because the show’s creators didn’t think the premise could be sustained any longer than that, which on the one hand is a shame, because it was such an amazing series. On the other hand it’s a blessing, because the series didn’t outstay its welcome and quite frankly, if the show continued its hectic shooting schedule I think John Simm, who played Sam, would have dropped dead of exhaustion. And we do not want that. He’s one of Britain’s best actors at the moment, along with David Tennant, Phillip Glenister (who is also in Life On Mars and its spinoff, Ashes to Ashes) and David Morrissey.
The song becomes an aural cue for Sam’s movement between the two worlds he is trapped in; 1973 and 2006. The song and the show’s premise seem unrelated on the surface, but listen closer – the song is told from the point of view of an outside observer witnesses strange events unfolding in front of them as though they are watching a film, and at times it seems as though Sam feels he has stumbled into a 1970s cop show (I think it’s The Sweeney). His only communication with the outside world is through the media – predominantly his television.


Happiness Is a Warm Gun – The Beatles

It began with a Beatles tune, it’s only fitting that it end with one. There’s an adage that goes, ‘no one does a Beatles song as well as the Beatles’. Well, it certainly hold true. I found the experience of watching Beatles musical Across the Universe such an amazing journey. I’d never seen these treasured songs handled so beautifully before. Director Julie Taymor has a gift for striking visuals. Watch the sequence for Strawberry Fields Forever and you will see what I mean.

This song was featured in the film, as Max (Maxwell’s Silver Hammer – geddit?) struggles to overcome a war injury and drug addiction he picked up in Vietnam, he imagines a priest brought in to give dying soldiers their last rites becomes possessed by the dead (essentially, he is Mother Superior who ‘jumps the gun’), and his hallucination transforms into five versions of Salma Hayek delivering the much sought after medication he needs, prompting him to cry out, ‘happiness is a warm gun!’
Happiness is a Warm Gun, apparently partly inspired by the Snoopy line ‘happiness is a warm puppy’, is Lennon’s breathtaking experiment with rhythm. It changes so many times, it’s too hard to keep up with. The end result is nothing short of incendiary (I love that word. I also like the phrase, ‘business as usual’). You have no choice but to sit back, close your eyes and go on the journey.

No Country For Old Men (Joel and Ethan Cohen, 2007)

Note: If you’re one of those morons who thought the ending of this film was stupid, or just plain sucked, be prepared to feel really stupid.

No Country For Old Men, based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy, is the story of Llewellyn Moss (Josh Brolin), a hunter who stumbles upon a drug deal gone terribly wrong. Everyone’s dead, even a dog. So Llewellyn decides that rather than report the crime to the police, he may as well take the unclaimed drug money (a cool $2 million – not bad in the 1970s) and run. Unfortunately, he not only pisses off some Mexican drug dealers. He also pisses off Anton Chigurh (Havier Bardem), a supremely terrifying individual with terrible hair. The sheriff pursuing both Llewellyn and Chigurh, Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), finds it increasingly difficult to keep up with this new generation of crime.

When I first saw that this film had won four Oscars, I was surprised. I wondered if it were really that good, that deserving (I thought Atonement had been robbed, quite frankly) of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ praise. The answer, in the technical language of a film critic? Fuck yeah. Now I’m wondering why it didn’t win more.

Every scene, every sound, every piece of dialogue -- it all feels entirely necessary. Every one of those 121 minutes is absolutely crucial to the story. The film as a whole unites to evoke the terror and the seeming helplessness of one of Chigurh’s potential victims. I have never jumped so much in a film, not even a horror film. The sound of the pressuriser gun that Chigurh uses, the gunfire, the sound of two cars colliding – the sound design on this film is immaculate. And so is the editing, the cinematography, the writing, and the performances.

And let’s just talk about the performances. Josh Brolin is fast becoming one of the most underrated actors ever. He is a consistently strong performer and his turn as Llewellyn Moss is fantastic. You’re a little disgusted by his behaviour, but you never stop hoping he’ll get away with it. I feel like Tommy Lee Jones has been playing the same character for a while now, and I know why; so that Joel and Ethan Coen could make this film. Casting Jones in the role of the Sheriff was a master stroke and it only adds to that feeling of being cheated by the film’s ending. And Javier Bardem. Oh, my Lord. You see him in his suit at various engagements, or looking fashionably dishevelled in a magazine. And you want to make babies with him. You just do. I know I do. Then, you see him play Anton Chigurh, one of the most terrifying characters ever invented and from now on, you’re going to see his face in your nightmares. Anton Chigurh is unstoppable: he’s almost cartoonish, so much like a supervillain he is. But he’s also a man trapped by his own distorted view of the world. A character tells him, ‘you don’t have to do this’. He responds by laughing and saying, ‘so many people tell me that’. He’s annoyed, and sick of hearing this, because in his mind he really does have to do this. The only amnesty he can offer his victim is a toss of the coin. That’s it. Bardem’s portrayal of this character is flawless. It’s fitting that both Bardem and Day-Lewis received their Oscars this year for portraying villains, because villains are really hard to portray convincingly. Bardem nails it. Absolutely nails it.

And now, for that much talked-about ending. In most films, the good guy wins and the bad guy gets his hash settled. The guy in the white hat gets the girl and the guy in the black hat usually gets a bullet to the guts. Now, that may be an overly simplistic description, but essentially it’s true in most films, even contemporary films. And if you see a film about two guys chasing one another, who are in turn being chased by Tommy Lee Jones, you expect that in the end the bad guy is getting that bullet he’s been earning throughout the film. I think at this point it may be time to explain some things about plot and narrative.

The protagonist (or, the main character for those playing at home) has a desire or a goal. S/he encounters many obstacles in the pursuit of that goal. The function of the film is to set up certain expectations for the viewer of that film. Often, a film will fulfil those expectations, i.e., the boy gets the girl, the bad guy gets killed, etc. But guess what? The film is also allowed to cheat the viewer out of having those expectations fulfilled. This isn’t a new thing. No Country For Old Men really isn’t the first film to have a ‘twist’ at the end. Nor is it the first film to set up certain narrative expectations and then cheat them. Casablanca, anyone?

And if you’re at all confused about why the film ends the way it does, perhaps you might like to consider the title: No. Country. For. Old. Men. Think about it. the film starts with an old man discussing what it was like to be in law enforcement in the ‘good old days’. This story is about a man who is finding the world increasingly difficult to understand. As a sheriff, he no longer feels as though he knows what the common criminal is thinking. And because he no longer understands the criminal mind, he feels unable to bring them to justice. Nobody gets what they want because they underestimate their rival. And that’s essentially why there’s no traditional showdown between the characters involved. And there’s an implication that this is not a new thing; essentially, from the beginning of time, weird shit has happened. There’s no escaping it. But Tommy Lee Jones’s character feels as though the modern world is moving forward without him. Hence, it is No Country For an Old man such as himself. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Now that my rant about film narrative is over, I shall sum up by saying that Joel and Ethan Cohen have entirely repaid their debt to the film community (you know, after the whole Intolerable Cruelty/The Ladykillers thing?). And I think I still want to have Havier Bardem’s babies. I think.

If you like this you should:

* Read No Country For Old Men, by Cormac McCarthy.
* Watch Fargo
* Replace that image of Anton Chigurh strangling the deputy with something more friendly.

Fashion on Film

Sky Movies and Instyle magazine recently conducted a reader’s poll asking: what is the best film costume of all time? The readers voted the emerald green dress worn by Keira Knightley in the 2007 film Atonement as the number one best film costume of all time. The rest of the list was as follows:

2. The white dress worn by Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch.
3. The black Givenchy dress worn by Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
4. The skin-tight black pants worn by Olivia Newtown-John in Grease.
5. Kate Winslet’s costumes in Titanic.
6. The tie and waistcoast worn by Diane Keaton in Annie Hall.
7. The satin corset worn by Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.
8. The costume worn by Liza Minnelli in Cabaret.
9. The gown worn by Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth: The Golden Age.
10. The costumes worn by Vivien Leigh in Gone With the Wind.

The list has sparked a lot of controversy. Many feel that the dress from Atonement only won because it is so fresh in the readers’ minds. Some feel that while it is stunning, and effective in its purpose, they question its ability to stand the test of time as well as some of the other items on the list.

The stunning costumes worn by Kirsten Dunst in Marie Antoinette, in my opinion, are noticeably absent. Worse still, the most prolific costume designer of the 20th century does not have a single entry in the top ten.

Costume designer Edith Head designed costumes during Hollywood’s golden age and beyond. Her career started in 1927 on the film Wings. Her last film, Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, was released after her death and dedicated to her memory in 1982. She is best known for her work with Alfred Hitchcock, working in the costume and wardrobe departments for Notorious, Rear Window, To Catch a Thief, Vertigo, the Birds, Marnie, Torn Curtain, Topaz, and Family Plot. She won eight Academy Awards (although one technically should have been awarded to her and Hubert de Givenchy), more Oscars than any other woman. Her Oscar-winning designs can be seen in films such as The Heiress, All About Eve and Roman Holiday. Head became the favourite designer of many of Hollywood’s elite during the studio system, stars such as Ginger Rogers and Bette Davis. She is quoted as saying, “Your dresses should be tight enough to show you're a woman and loose enough to show you're a lady”.

Her designs for Hitchcock are as legendary as the films themselves, and it can be argued that she is just as responsible for the creation of ‘the Hitchcock Blondes’ as the famous director. One story goes that the yellow, full-skirted dress worn by Grace Kelly in Rear Window started the full-skirt trend in the 1950s. The dress was made because Kelly would have to do a lot of climbing and other skirts didn’t allow her to move freely. Whether this story is true or not, it attests to Head’s high profile in the fashion industry as well as her talent as a costume designer.

To me, the most amazing costume she ever designed is the grey suit worn by Kim Novak in Vertigo. Vertigo is the story of a police officer, John ‘Scottie’ Ferguson, who suffers from terrible acrophobia. An old college friend, Gavin Elster, asks him to look after his wife Madeleine, who he believes is possessed by the spirit of a woman who committed suicide years earlier. Because of his debilitating condition Scottie is unable to save Madeleine. Unbeknownst to Scottie, however, it is all a trick designed to make him implicit in the murder of Elster’s real wife. The film is about deception and doubling, and the power of an image to create desire. The costumes within the film play a vital role in telling that story.

The first time we see Madeleine in the iconic grey suit she is about to fall to her death. The second time, Scottie has remade Madeleine by transforming a young woman named Judy Barton. As Judy walks into her hotel room toward Scottie, the green light from the outdoor sign creates an ethereal glow, as though Scottie and the audience were in a dream. As Scottie and Judy kiss we are transported back to the day Madeleine died. When we return to the hotel room it seems as though Scottie has finally reclaimed the image of Madeleine that he has yearned for.

The power of clothes to transform a person’s personality are flawlessly executed in this scene. The costume becomes a visual representation of Judy’s willingness to become the ideal woman Scottie craves; not only that, it reflects Scottie’s fragile emotional state. For example, the cream shirt worn underneath the suit is slightly different to the original, a visual cue suggesting Scottie’s makeover of Judy is not as successful as Elster’s and is therefore doomed to fail. All of the costumes in the film are amazing but it’s the suit that encapsulates the film’s emotional core.

Film is a visual narrative form; meaning simply that it tells a story in pictures. The clothes characters wear become part of that story, reflecting the characters’ inner turmoil or psychological transformation. Costumes are also instrumental in placing characters in a historical context. Much like fashion in everyday life, film costumes are a form of art – art you can wear. And Edith Head was one of the greatest artists of our time.

Juno (Jason Reitman, 2007)

Was there ever a kid at your school who dressed differently, liked all the cool indie music and talked like an extra from Dawson’s Creek or The OC? Then chances are you’ll find Juno Macguff slightly familiar. As the title character and driving force of this film, Juno is simply the coolest kid ever. And the film is just like Juno: perfectly oddball, funny and heartwarming. I’m going to go ahead and call it this year’s Little Miss Sunshine.

Juno Macguff (Ellen Page) is in a bit of a pickle. After deciding to sleep with her friend Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera), she’s having a slight case of pregnancy. After being unable to go through with an abortion she decides to give the baby up for adoption to a wealthy couple she finds in the trading post (Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner).

The film may sound weird, or if you’re conservative, an endorsement of teen pregnancy and therefore evil. This film is one of the best films I have ever seen. Yep, I’m making that call. It’s the right balance of funny and moving, heartwarming and sad, and it is well presented on a narrative and visual level.

I’m not really that big a fan of the opening credits (it’s a personal thing, just rubbed me the wrong way), and I have not been won over by Kimya Dawson’s oddball charm as much as I was by Juno’s, but apart from these minor irritations I was bowled over from start to finish. The film looks great, 85% of the soundtrack is amazing, and the characters are just beautiful. The performances are terrific. Ellen Page’s nomination for Best Actress at the Oscars is surprising but in no way undeserved. For someone so young she has quite a formidable screen presence. She’s fascinating to watch and if she doesn’t win this year she certainly will win eventually. It’s an If, not a When kind of a deal.

The script is brilliant. Diablo Cody is a master at this and it’s only her first go at it. I’m impressed. Fuck, I’m even jealous. It’s a blinding debut and I think she has a good chance of picking up an Oscar as well.

More films should be like this.

If you like this you should:

* Become a fan of the Moldy Peaches
* Watch You, Me and Everyone We Know (Miranda July, 2005)
* Read The Pussy Ranch, Diablo Cody's blog.

Atonement (Joe Wright, 2007)

This adaptation of Ian McEwan’s critically acclaimed novel has garnered a lot of praise, the most impressive accolade being not the Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture, or the countless Oscar and BAFTA nods, but the Best Film Costume award. In a recent poll, the emerald green dress worn by Keira Knightley in the film beat out Marilyn Monroe’s white halter-neck dress from The Seven Year Itch and Audrey Hepburn’s Givenchy dress from Breakfast at Tiffany’s to win the top award. Not only is the dress, and the wearer, absolutely stunning but the film is as well. What a relief.

The film tells the story of Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan), a thirteen year old aspiring writer. She’s got a bit of a crush on the groundskeeper Robbie (James McAvoy – and who could blame her!), who is in love with Briony’s older sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley). Briony sees something she shouldn’t have. Whether through misunderstanding, or perhaps more likely, through jealousy, the witnessing of this event leads Briony to accuse Robbie of a crime he did not commit. This ruins not only his life, but also Cecilia’s. years later, during World War II, an older and much wiser Briony (Romola Garai) decides she must try and set things right.

This film tells a beautiful story of love, revenge and the search for salvation. Briony, the writer, is in complete control of the story, the film and subsequently the audience. It’s also about the righteousness we feel when we’re young. Teenagers think they know everything, and believe that they can see things adults can’t, or won’t. I remember doing something as a kid, probably around Briony’s age, that lead to a lot of people in my family being hurt, all because I felt this sense of right and wrong. Also, I was a bit of a goodie-two-shoes. Luckily for me that there weren’t more serious consequences. I regret my decision, and so does Briony. Her attempts to atone (geddit?) for her actions are heartbreaking to watch but by the film’s end the spectator feels as though she has made amends in the only way she knows how.

The film is, in a sense, presented in four parts: The leadup to Robbie’s arrest, his and Cecilia’s reunion during the war, Briony’s attempts to make amends for her actions, and the interview with Briony about the resulting book she has written about Robbie and Cecilia. While the film overall is powerful – it works as a statement on the way in which war tears people’s lives apart with little regard to what has gone on before – the rest of the film never quite lives up to the stunning first part.

I cannot say enough about the absolutely beautiful execution of the leadup to Robbie’s arrest. The photography is stunning (as it is throughout the entire film), and the rhythm and pace of the editing is flawless. The suspense is brilliant. It’s quite edge-of-your-seat for a while there. The performances are fantastic (they are in the entire film, really) and the location is gorgeous. There’s not really much about the rest of the film to criticise, it’s simply that the first part is perfect. Perhaps the rhythm isn’t quite so accurately handled as it is in the first part, I don’t really know. All I can say is that the first part is perfect, and the rest of the film only slightly less so.

I just started reading the book and I have to say, it's wonderful. Not only that, but so far the film is a flawless adaptation of the novel. There's a beautiful passage in the book that discusses writing in itself and I was in awe. I'll update as I get further into the novel.

The film does that green dress quite proud.

If you like this film you should:

* Watch everything James McAvoy has made. He's gorgeous.
* Order a knock-off of Keira Knightley's green dress
* Reminisce about the horrible things you did as a kid because you thought you were right.

* Read Atonement, by Ian McEwan