McQueen (dir. Ian Bonhôte and Peter Ettedgui, 2018)
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A glimpse into the life and career of fashion maverick Lee Alexander McQueen, whose from-rags-to-riches tale is wrought into an intimate, celebrative portrait. For one who became disillusioned by the art world – untethered, by fame, from what he knew and loved – McQueen himself is grounded and fully realised by a remarkable number of voices, individuals whose lives he had enlightened, or, in some instances, severely damaged. Savage beauty is dared and trodden on the catwalks, a form of personal biography clothed within the macabre, sexuality and earthly reverence. Across chapters or “tapes” (as the documentary refers) named after his infamous collections, McQueen’s passage as artist is closely discerned, tripping between provocation, curiosity and inspired originality, before collapsing at his suicide in 2010.
Midsommar (dir. Ari Aster, 2019)
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Midsommar announces its director, Ari Aster, as one of the foremost innovators working in contemporary horror, even if the chrysalis of that genre has since hatched in the wake of his latest flight. It is a branch of cinema in process of change, an audacious forward movement – in almost every respect, intellectually and aesthetically – that dresses itself in tradition (“the clothes of a […] horror film”, as remarked Aster), whilst immersing you in a modern, sensory experience. Out of the opening blizzard does tragedy ensue for the family of Dani Ardor (played by Florence Pugh), a trauma carried into the wreckage of her failing relationship to Christian, and further, as the narrative unfolds, into the daylight luminance of Hälsingland, Sweden. Occupied in such an ancestral commune, the “midsummer” celebrations ingratiate the small group of visiting Americans – tourists, unknowingly, to a kind of quasi-pagan safari – beginning with dance, the taking of food and drink, and later in their violent, Bacchanal operatics. “It’s just like theatre,” their friend Pelle confesses, a premonition figured into the topsy-turvy world of its church, the familiar (eating, sleeping, sexual intercourse) made foreign by its performance, contorted (not unlike the countenance of their disabled, attic-bound Oracle, a product of such corruption). Events tumble into farce, whilst laying the tract for Ardor’s own, female rebirth, an awakening from grief into … well, something entirely fantastical. Aster looks to the rural spirituality of Ingmar Bergman, whilst, and more fixedly, seeking to channel the premise of Robin Hardy’s 1973-classic, The Wicker Man. In this translation does Midsommar harvest more than was perhaps intended, each film lulled into a protracted and relatively tedious exposition of day-to-day strangeness, amassing a curiosity-cabinet of oddities that work counter to its intended effect. If Hereditary found allure in choice and selection, Midsommar is an overly concentrated equivalent, gorging its audience with too much palate and colour. Ambitious and euphoric, the need to distress ultimately takes precedence over anything truly frightening, a nauseous gestation of sunlight, community and fairy-tale wickedness. In broad daylight, so are the worst horrors enacted – nobody is exempt of sight in this picture. Ari Aster is a filmmaker to watch closely, even if from a distance.
Liam Gallagher: As It Was (dir. Gavin Fitzgerald and Charlie Lightening, 2019)
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Pugilistic, brazen, self-important … but also forty-five years of age, family oriented, and with a growing sense of humility. Just a few reflections gleaned from ex-Oasis frontman Liam Gallagher, whose career since the turbulent breakup is honestly recounted – at first plummeting, but, with a few new initiatives, gathering momentum and success. Stylistic and Instagram-esque in cinematography, As It Was is largely one-on-one with Liam himself – a series of interviews and voiceovers, old and new – whilst live performances are usually abridged to highlight offstage vignettes. (In his Glastonbury 2017 performance, for example, only a few minutes of stage time are actually shown.) So much of what gives Liam Gallagher traction, however, is the ever-present memory of his brother, Noel, more sure-footed in his career, and whose life Liam appears to be defining/re-defining himself against. As It Was is a loud, boisterous jeer of self-validation, a musical act of reinvention.
Too Late Blues (dir. John Cassavetes, 1961)
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In a clip from A Personal Journey through American Movies, by Martin Scorsese, John Cassavetes emphasises the need “for […] characters to really analyse love, discuss it, kill it, destroy it, hurt each other, do all that stuff […] in that picture polemic of what life is.” To Cassavetes, the philosophy of love is the centre around which all should orbit. It is not unsurprising, therefore, that in Too Late Blues – Cassavetes first major Hollywood-produced picture – the object of love is what brings about the most damage. Idealistic Jazz leader “Ghost” Wakefield – whose career consists of playing outdoors, with no audience – meets the nobody singer Jess “Princess” Polanski at a party, inviting her to join the group. The two begin a relationship, but quickly find themselves engulfed by unhappiness. Opportunities are spoiled and wasted; the most infamous of which arises out of Jess’s declaration of love to Ghost, after being beaten to the floor by a drunkard, which he violently rejects. Cassavetes characters do not understand what love is, or, at least, they tell themselves they will never understand it. An American echo of Fellini’s I Vitelloni, Too Late Blues is a study of people who are wasted, emotionally and spiritually, left only to hurt one another and wander across the remains of the day. It is not surprising that Scorsese found inspiration in such scenes when making Mean Streets and Taxi Driver.
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