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.
Showing posts with label joy division. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy division. Show all posts
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Why the French Hate Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006), and why I love it
I usually hate Biopics. I think they're boring and unconvincing. I listen to every word of dialogue thinking, 'how do they know that's what he actually said?' Ahh, when it comes to biopics, I'm that guy. That guy who watches Bad Boys and thinks the car chases and explosions are unrealistic. That guy who thinks science fiction films are rubbish because they don't reflect real life (well, they do, but we're not dealing with someone sane here). I'm that guy who sits there and scoffs, uttering those dreaded words that make all film lovers cringe: as if that would happen in real life.
I usually want to kick that person in the eye. So why do I treat biopics in such a shabby fashion? I think it's because format shifting is a tricky business, unless you're a computer geek (hello, friends!) or a music pirate (hello friends!). Source material that hasn't been made especially for a film is tough to produce in a satisfying way. It can be achieved, but by people who know what they're doing. Or people who have absolutely no idea at all what they're doing.
Now, if you read my debut post, which is a review of a well-made biopic, you'll remember what I said about biopics: balancing act. Because really, it all comes down to one thing: Narrative. Simply put, narrative is how you tell the story. It's how you let the story unfold. It's how you turn the plot into a fully realised cinematic experience. Which basically means that everything comes down to narrative. Well, that's my theory, and trust me, it's not very original. David Bordwell, Kristin Thompson and Janet Staiger wrote the book on Classical Hollywood Cinema (literally. It's called Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960), and I think that not only can you extend their analysis of classical Hollywood cinema to mainstream cinema, i.e. contemporary Hollywood cinema, I think you can still apply it to cinema in general. This theory remains largely untested, I'm fully prepared to find that I'm mayor of Wrongtown on this, but the fact is: Much like classical Hollywood cinema, every element of film is subordinate to narrative, which is what Bordwell found when he watched a veritable shiteload of classical Hollywood films. And I reckon that's still true. How you tell the story is the key. It seems completely effing obvious, but those are usually the things that are left unexplored.
So film narrative, obviously, is different to say, narrative in literature. And it certainly isn't the same as real life. Film narrative borrows from the three-act structure and turns it up to 11: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denoument. Now, this is universal dramatic structure, but film has to do it visually and aurally, and it only has a certain amount of time do it all in. Which brings me back to the biopic.
How do you take a real person and turn them into a constructed story that conforms to the dramatic structure of narrative film? Inevitably, you're going to start with them on the brink of notoriety if they're famous, maybe end on their downfall, basically focus on their life from start to finish. Which is why I think I can't connect with them. You have to turn their life into an exciting adventure, in a nutshell (hmmm, there's an idea, make a film about a celebrity inside a nutshell...), and what if their life just doesn't fit that mould? On the other hand, if it doesn't, why are they making a film about them in the first place?
There's a tendency in many biopics to be completely faithful to the subject, mostly for the sake of the family. However, there's a difference between accurately portraying an historical figure and playing it safe in the narrative. There are so many things you can do with film, so my theory is why not use all your available resources? You can still make an exciting film that stays true to the essence of a historical figure. By narrowing your focus, you can create an exciting film that's still historically accurate. And why does it have to be a period piece? If an historical figure reminds you of something modern and new, why not incorporate it? No matter how hard a film maker tries, their film will only ever be an interpretation of someone's life, so why make something dull? No matter how accurate it is, the people who know the subject best will not be entirely happy with the finished product. For Natalie Curtis, Control is distracting, because it's not quite like the stories she was told, and she thought her mother should have been a more dominant presence in the film, a not-invalid point, because after all, Deborah Curtis' book is the source material for the film. Roseanne Cash said she didn't want to watch Walk The Line because she didn't want to see the Hollywood version of her father's drug addiction. If I saw a film about one of my family members, I don't think I'd be entirely happy with the finished product, either. I think a film maker has to be respectful, but also have the courage to tell the story they want to tell. Which is why I haven't watched a lot of biopics, and the ones I have are mostly boring. Except for three. And those are Walk the Line (James Mangold, 2005), Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006), and Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007).
Walk the Line is probably the most conventional of the three, but that's not a bad thing. I think it's the narrowed focus and opening that makes this biopic really great. For those who have no idea, it's the story of Johnny Cash, and in particular, his drug battle and relationship with June Carter Cash (I'll give you a hint: they get together at the end). It opens with Cash in a prison, about to perform for the inmates. Some machinery reminds him of his childhood and takes him back to an event that will haunt his adult life. I don't want to spoil it, because I think everyone should watch it, but it's a film that takes Johnny Cash's well-documented drug abuse, long, illustrious career and high profile relationship with June Carter Cash and turns it into a beautiful story about the power of love.
tip: watch the video for Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt. It's the last video he made, and it's heartbreaking. It's like watching a sunset.
Now, I don't know if every single French person hates Sofia Coppola's treatment of their teenage queen, but the response to the film when it was shown at Cannes was a sign that maybe the French don't have a sense of humour when it comes to historical figures they murdered during the Revolution. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I count Marie Antoinette as my favourite Sofia Coppola film, and one of my favourite films of all time. Sure, it's partly my girl crush on Kirsten Dunst, and well, Sofia Coppola, but it's mostly the bold treatment of the subject. Coppola based the film on the book Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Frazer, but I think it was very losely based. In an interview with Coppola, she said that the French court during Marie Antoinette's reign reminded her of the New Romantics, a music movement in the 1980s (post-punk, slightly post-joy division). Coppola incorporated this idea into the film by using a soundtrack made up of new romantic music, including Adam and the Ants, New Order, Bow Wow Wow, The Cure, and Siouxsie and the Banshees, as well as contemporary artists such as the Strokes and Aphex Twin, which I thought was brilliant. Add to that awesome soundtrack a trailer set to New Order's Age of Consent, a shot of powder-blue chuck taylors amongst 18th Century heels, and the Blondie-esque movie poster and you've got a fairly vivid imagining of 1770s France. But don't confuse rock and roll treatment for historical inaccuracy. The stunning attention to detail makes the film absolutely delightful to look at. The colourful food, the cakes and pastries and ornate clothes, ah! It makes you wish you were there. Coppola's wish to make something about Marie Antoinette that felt like it was from Marie Antoinette's perspective, and that association with the music Coppola probably listened to as a teenager has lead her to create, for me anyway, not so much a biopic so much as a 1980s teen film with Marie Antoinette as the protagonist. It is this treatment of the material that makes me admire the film so much: Coppola didn't feel the need to make a conventional biopic, which is why I love it.
tip: Listen to all the records from the 80s that your older sister threw away (or, for you younglings, your parents).
Anton Corbijn loves his black and white. Ain't nothing wrong with that, because i love black and white too. I've produced two music videos, and we used the same technique as Corbijn for both of them: shot in colour and printed to black and white. Why? Because black and white just makes those little flares of light so much more interesting. And don't shoot in black and white when you can use a filter in Final Cut, just in case it looks a bit rubbish (how could it? But I'm sure it's possible). As someone whose photos were largely responsible for Joy Division's legendary status (one of the few times NME were right), who better to chronicle the life of lead singer Ian Curtis than someone who not only helped create his image but loved his music? Control is a studied, personal, visually stunning insight into five years in the life of Ian Curtis and Joy Division. Joy Division and Tony Wilson's involvement in their career had already been touched on in Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People, but Corbijn chose to include it in his film, at times more as a comic subplot than as a central plot point. His source material is intimate: Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division by Deborah Curtis, Ian Curtis' wife, and I guess the film is much more sympathetic to Curtis than even its source material, and yet it feels like Curtis' personality has been accurately portrayed, even if there is a certain amount of dramatic license (there has to be, it's a narrative film, not a documentary or a rock profile). It's Corbijn's dominant photographic style and execution of live performances (much like Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in Walk The Line, the actors performed the songs themselves) that set this film apart.
tip: become as obssessed with Joy Division as I am. Then I'll have someone to talk to about them. Oh, and watch 24 Hour Party People. Then lend it to me.
I guess the tip I have for anyone making a biopic that I'll actually want to watch is not to try to throw away film narrative for the sake of accuracy. Because film can bring your subject to life in such a wonderful way. Use your subject as the inspiration for the kind of vision you have for the film. Make the film you want to make, and don't lose your style in the process.
I usually want to kick that person in the eye. So why do I treat biopics in such a shabby fashion? I think it's because format shifting is a tricky business, unless you're a computer geek (hello, friends!) or a music pirate (hello friends!). Source material that hasn't been made especially for a film is tough to produce in a satisfying way. It can be achieved, but by people who know what they're doing. Or people who have absolutely no idea at all what they're doing.
Now, if you read my debut post, which is a review of a well-made biopic, you'll remember what I said about biopics: balancing act. Because really, it all comes down to one thing: Narrative. Simply put, narrative is how you tell the story. It's how you let the story unfold. It's how you turn the plot into a fully realised cinematic experience. Which basically means that everything comes down to narrative. Well, that's my theory, and trust me, it's not very original. David Bordwell, Kristin Thompson and Janet Staiger wrote the book on Classical Hollywood Cinema (literally. It's called Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960), and I think that not only can you extend their analysis of classical Hollywood cinema to mainstream cinema, i.e. contemporary Hollywood cinema, I think you can still apply it to cinema in general. This theory remains largely untested, I'm fully prepared to find that I'm mayor of Wrongtown on this, but the fact is: Much like classical Hollywood cinema, every element of film is subordinate to narrative, which is what Bordwell found when he watched a veritable shiteload of classical Hollywood films. And I reckon that's still true. How you tell the story is the key. It seems completely effing obvious, but those are usually the things that are left unexplored.
So film narrative, obviously, is different to say, narrative in literature. And it certainly isn't the same as real life. Film narrative borrows from the three-act structure and turns it up to 11: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denoument. Now, this is universal dramatic structure, but film has to do it visually and aurally, and it only has a certain amount of time do it all in. Which brings me back to the biopic.
How do you take a real person and turn them into a constructed story that conforms to the dramatic structure of narrative film? Inevitably, you're going to start with them on the brink of notoriety if they're famous, maybe end on their downfall, basically focus on their life from start to finish. Which is why I think I can't connect with them. You have to turn their life into an exciting adventure, in a nutshell (hmmm, there's an idea, make a film about a celebrity inside a nutshell...), and what if their life just doesn't fit that mould? On the other hand, if it doesn't, why are they making a film about them in the first place?
There's a tendency in many biopics to be completely faithful to the subject, mostly for the sake of the family. However, there's a difference between accurately portraying an historical figure and playing it safe in the narrative. There are so many things you can do with film, so my theory is why not use all your available resources? You can still make an exciting film that stays true to the essence of a historical figure. By narrowing your focus, you can create an exciting film that's still historically accurate. And why does it have to be a period piece? If an historical figure reminds you of something modern and new, why not incorporate it? No matter how hard a film maker tries, their film will only ever be an interpretation of someone's life, so why make something dull? No matter how accurate it is, the people who know the subject best will not be entirely happy with the finished product. For Natalie Curtis, Control is distracting, because it's not quite like the stories she was told, and she thought her mother should have been a more dominant presence in the film, a not-invalid point, because after all, Deborah Curtis' book is the source material for the film. Roseanne Cash said she didn't want to watch Walk The Line because she didn't want to see the Hollywood version of her father's drug addiction. If I saw a film about one of my family members, I don't think I'd be entirely happy with the finished product, either. I think a film maker has to be respectful, but also have the courage to tell the story they want to tell. Which is why I haven't watched a lot of biopics, and the ones I have are mostly boring. Except for three. And those are Walk the Line (James Mangold, 2005), Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006), and Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007).
Walk the Line is probably the most conventional of the three, but that's not a bad thing. I think it's the narrowed focus and opening that makes this biopic really great. For those who have no idea, it's the story of Johnny Cash, and in particular, his drug battle and relationship with June Carter Cash (I'll give you a hint: they get together at the end). It opens with Cash in a prison, about to perform for the inmates. Some machinery reminds him of his childhood and takes him back to an event that will haunt his adult life. I don't want to spoil it, because I think everyone should watch it, but it's a film that takes Johnny Cash's well-documented drug abuse, long, illustrious career and high profile relationship with June Carter Cash and turns it into a beautiful story about the power of love.
tip: watch the video for Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt. It's the last video he made, and it's heartbreaking. It's like watching a sunset.
Now, I don't know if every single French person hates Sofia Coppola's treatment of their teenage queen, but the response to the film when it was shown at Cannes was a sign that maybe the French don't have a sense of humour when it comes to historical figures they murdered during the Revolution. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I count Marie Antoinette as my favourite Sofia Coppola film, and one of my favourite films of all time. Sure, it's partly my girl crush on Kirsten Dunst, and well, Sofia Coppola, but it's mostly the bold treatment of the subject. Coppola based the film on the book Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Frazer, but I think it was very losely based. In an interview with Coppola, she said that the French court during Marie Antoinette's reign reminded her of the New Romantics, a music movement in the 1980s (post-punk, slightly post-joy division). Coppola incorporated this idea into the film by using a soundtrack made up of new romantic music, including Adam and the Ants, New Order, Bow Wow Wow, The Cure, and Siouxsie and the Banshees, as well as contemporary artists such as the Strokes and Aphex Twin, which I thought was brilliant. Add to that awesome soundtrack a trailer set to New Order's Age of Consent, a shot of powder-blue chuck taylors amongst 18th Century heels, and the Blondie-esque movie poster and you've got a fairly vivid imagining of 1770s France. But don't confuse rock and roll treatment for historical inaccuracy. The stunning attention to detail makes the film absolutely delightful to look at. The colourful food, the cakes and pastries and ornate clothes, ah! It makes you wish you were there. Coppola's wish to make something about Marie Antoinette that felt like it was from Marie Antoinette's perspective, and that association with the music Coppola probably listened to as a teenager has lead her to create, for me anyway, not so much a biopic so much as a 1980s teen film with Marie Antoinette as the protagonist. It is this treatment of the material that makes me admire the film so much: Coppola didn't feel the need to make a conventional biopic, which is why I love it.
tip: Listen to all the records from the 80s that your older sister threw away (or, for you younglings, your parents).
Anton Corbijn loves his black and white. Ain't nothing wrong with that, because i love black and white too. I've produced two music videos, and we used the same technique as Corbijn for both of them: shot in colour and printed to black and white. Why? Because black and white just makes those little flares of light so much more interesting. And don't shoot in black and white when you can use a filter in Final Cut, just in case it looks a bit rubbish (how could it? But I'm sure it's possible). As someone whose photos were largely responsible for Joy Division's legendary status (one of the few times NME were right), who better to chronicle the life of lead singer Ian Curtis than someone who not only helped create his image but loved his music? Control is a studied, personal, visually stunning insight into five years in the life of Ian Curtis and Joy Division. Joy Division and Tony Wilson's involvement in their career had already been touched on in Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People, but Corbijn chose to include it in his film, at times more as a comic subplot than as a central plot point. His source material is intimate: Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division by Deborah Curtis, Ian Curtis' wife, and I guess the film is much more sympathetic to Curtis than even its source material, and yet it feels like Curtis' personality has been accurately portrayed, even if there is a certain amount of dramatic license (there has to be, it's a narrative film, not a documentary or a rock profile). It's Corbijn's dominant photographic style and execution of live performances (much like Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in Walk The Line, the actors performed the songs themselves) that set this film apart.
tip: become as obssessed with Joy Division as I am. Then I'll have someone to talk to about them. Oh, and watch 24 Hour Party People. Then lend it to me.
I guess the tip I have for anyone making a biopic that I'll actually want to watch is not to try to throw away film narrative for the sake of accuracy. Because film can bring your subject to life in such a wonderful way. Use your subject as the inspiration for the kind of vision you have for the film. Make the film you want to make, and don't lose your style in the process.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007)
Photographer Anton Corbijn has photographed, and directed videos for, many high profile bands such as The Killers and U2, and one of the bands he photographed early in his career was Joy Divsion. For his first feature film, Control, Corbijn has beautifully portrayed the life and tragic suicide of lead singer Ian Curtis.
Based on the book Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division, the film feels like an intimate glimpse at the private life of the singer. Curtis committed suicide at the age of 23 on the eve of the band's US tour in 1980 and the film explores, but never passes judgement on, some of the contributing factors to his death. These include his troubled relationship with his wife, his affair with Annik Honore and his battles with epilepsy and depression. The film portrays Curtis as talented and unpredictable: he's a sympathetic character but at the same time, Corbijn doesn't shy away from revealing his faults.
His background in music video is apparent in his use of rhythm and pace in the film, and also in the performance scenes of Joy Division. It was said that the audience often didn't know whether Curtis was taking a seizure or if it were simply a part of his performance, and Corbijn handles this confusion brilliantly in one note-perfect sequence. Also of note is the band's first television performance ('Transmission' in the film, but in actual fact the band performed 'Shadowplay'). While it's not the band's first performance in the film, it's where we first see Curtis' distinctive performance style and the band's recognisable image as post-punk icons.
A friend told me that she read that the title didn't just refer to Curtis, but that it also summed up Corbijn's direction of the film and after having viewed it, I think she's right. Corbijn shows excellent control not only in the narrative but also in his framing and composition. Curtis is often framed off-centre and in corners of the screen as though he is struggling to break out, which is the perfect visual representaton of his stated wish to Annik that he wants to get away from Macclesfield, his hometown. The film was shot in colour and printed to black and white, according to trusted friend Wikipedia, and again this shows Corbijn's complete control of the film. Not only that, it creates a beautiful play with light and shadow. Not a single shot in the film fails to contain some sort of beauty, even in the face of what can be very heavy material.
The performances strengthen the breathtaking photography. Newcomer Sam Riley is heart-breakingly beautiful as Ian Curtis. His portayal of the singer's erratic performance style, his epilepsy and his mood swings are impressive. His voice, while similar, is not quite the same as that of Curtis, but his musical performances are admirable, as is the rest of the cast portraying the band. Samantha Morton is an incredibly talented and versatile actress (I highly recommend Morvern Callar), and her performance as Deborah Curtis is amazing. Tony Kebbell is also fantastic comic relief as the band's manager Rob Gretton.
I have read a few criticisms of the film and while I don't disagree with them, I feel they are a little unfair. A biopic is a visual balancing act: it must juggle the subject's public persona, their personal life, historical fact, the demands of film narrative, and often a secondary source material such as a written biography. Personally, I think that very few biopics get that balance right, but Corbijn's film is definitely one them. Again, control is the key, and I look forward to Corbijn's next project.
If you like this film, then you should:
* Immediately purchase Unknown Pleasures, Closer and Still.
* Buy the Control soundtrack.
* Listen to Lou Reed and David Bowie
* Rent 24 Hour Party People.
* Look up the video for 'All These Things That I've Done', by the Killers
Based on the book Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division, the film feels like an intimate glimpse at the private life of the singer. Curtis committed suicide at the age of 23 on the eve of the band's US tour in 1980 and the film explores, but never passes judgement on, some of the contributing factors to his death. These include his troubled relationship with his wife, his affair with Annik Honore and his battles with epilepsy and depression. The film portrays Curtis as talented and unpredictable: he's a sympathetic character but at the same time, Corbijn doesn't shy away from revealing his faults.
His background in music video is apparent in his use of rhythm and pace in the film, and also in the performance scenes of Joy Division. It was said that the audience often didn't know whether Curtis was taking a seizure or if it were simply a part of his performance, and Corbijn handles this confusion brilliantly in one note-perfect sequence. Also of note is the band's first television performance ('Transmission' in the film, but in actual fact the band performed 'Shadowplay'). While it's not the band's first performance in the film, it's where we first see Curtis' distinctive performance style and the band's recognisable image as post-punk icons.
A friend told me that she read that the title didn't just refer to Curtis, but that it also summed up Corbijn's direction of the film and after having viewed it, I think she's right. Corbijn shows excellent control not only in the narrative but also in his framing and composition. Curtis is often framed off-centre and in corners of the screen as though he is struggling to break out, which is the perfect visual representaton of his stated wish to Annik that he wants to get away from Macclesfield, his hometown. The film was shot in colour and printed to black and white, according to trusted friend Wikipedia, and again this shows Corbijn's complete control of the film. Not only that, it creates a beautiful play with light and shadow. Not a single shot in the film fails to contain some sort of beauty, even in the face of what can be very heavy material.
The performances strengthen the breathtaking photography. Newcomer Sam Riley is heart-breakingly beautiful as Ian Curtis. His portayal of the singer's erratic performance style, his epilepsy and his mood swings are impressive. His voice, while similar, is not quite the same as that of Curtis, but his musical performances are admirable, as is the rest of the cast portraying the band. Samantha Morton is an incredibly talented and versatile actress (I highly recommend Morvern Callar), and her performance as Deborah Curtis is amazing. Tony Kebbell is also fantastic comic relief as the band's manager Rob Gretton.
I have read a few criticisms of the film and while I don't disagree with them, I feel they are a little unfair. A biopic is a visual balancing act: it must juggle the subject's public persona, their personal life, historical fact, the demands of film narrative, and often a secondary source material such as a written biography. Personally, I think that very few biopics get that balance right, but Corbijn's film is definitely one them. Again, control is the key, and I look forward to Corbijn's next project.
If you like this film, then you should:
* Immediately purchase Unknown Pleasures, Closer and Still.
* Buy the Control soundtrack.
* Listen to Lou Reed and David Bowie
* Rent 24 Hour Party People.
* Look up the video for 'All These Things That I've Done', by the Killers
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