Reviews

The friendly face of German fascism, brought to you live from the fairy-tale town of Nuremberg.

This film has been described as horrible, disgusting, infamous and what have you. The interesting thing is that it's horrible only because everyone knows what followed, and because we have learned to look at images of swastika flags with revulsion. This film is really about some blokes enjoying themselves on a field, with lots of silly parades, speeches about how Germany's suffering has made its people special, and other diverse alarums. There are one or two remarks about 'racial purity', but for instance Jews are not mentioned even once.

But there is also a vague reference (the main culprit calls it "a dark shadow" in one of his speeches) to what happened several months earlier, when, in June, Hitler ordered the SA leadership murdered in cold blood. This act was condoned by most of the German people, and these are the same people we see waving and cheering and saluting. With that in mind, yes, the film takes on an added, horrible subtext, a feeling that something was definitely rotten in the republic of Germany.

Riefenstahl has always maintained that her point of view was an apolitical one, and that the work should be regarded as a work of art. I am not well-versed enough in the history of cinema to have an opinion on the artistic and technical merits of this film (aside from the tedious marching music) but I can easily imagine that back then it was quite an achievement, both as a work of art and as a relentless piece of propaganda aimed at this specific 1935 audience. I can also imagine that Riefenstahl was too caught up in what she did, to actually realize what was happening around her. She was not the only artist who, with 20/20 hindsight, should have known better.

View this film as a historical document, just maybe not an accurate one. And try to see the excellent documentary 'The Wonderful, Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl' for some context.

Yesterday I saw this one on DVD. I had seen it once before in a movie theatre, maybe 15 or 20 years ago, and I remember being underwhelmed, even though I was aware at the time that in its day it must have been the definitive SF movie.

However, what I saw on DVD this time around actually did impress the hell out of me. In the opening scenes: yes, this is how primitive man might have looked like. No chimps (though I think I spotted two somewhere), no people in monkey suits, but an actual unknown species of primate. Then, cut to the 21st century: this part, largely exposition, is rather dull and slow, and looks like it was put there mainly for the cinematographers to show off. Zero-gravity toilets, oh my, how clever, yeah right.

The movie really comes into its strength, though, during the Jupiter mission part. The horror we're confronted with is almost purely psychological. The action here is reported in such a cool and understated fashion that it grips you much harder than it has a right to. If I look at what this film accomplishes here, and compare it to present day flicks with their hugely overdone action sequences, spectacular effects, fight scenes, aggressive music, in other words: cheap thrills - I have to conclude that, yes, this movie deserves its reputation.

I'm a little more doubtful about the enigmatic 'beyond Jupiter' stuff: the swirling colours continue swirling for entirely too long, and the final scenes do little to make up for that. And I am not convinced about the legitimacy of expecting your audience to suddenly understand that esoteric Starchild stuff after taking them by the hand, neatly explaining everything to them as you go for the entire first two hours of the film.

And then signing off with that Johann Strauss' waltz music. Fitting at that point, true, but I wish Kubrick's choice here could have been a bit less inane. Ravel has written some nice waltzes, too...

This one is 35 years old. Still, it remains one of the most intelligent SF movies in existence. That, despite its flaws, makes it a classic.

This may have been intended as some sort of celebration of the human animal's sexual diversity, but as such it fails to do anything more than skim the surface. We are ponderously asked to accept that the gay boy gets the girl in the end, and that the straight blokes end up in bed with each other. "Does kissing her make me a het?" Kevin McKidd asks of his housemate - a flaming archetype exquisitely performed by Tom Hollander - after a bout of heavy petting with his new boyfriend's ex-fianceé. "Not unless you get an erection," he is told. The questions get asked, but obviously the film is at a loss for answers. And that's exactly the point. Or rather, the lack of it. Come on, *who cares* if this particular chap gets it on with a pretty girl? He already "looks and acts straight" anyway, and he's a carpenter to boot.

"Men's Lib" has never been taken seriously, and clearly this movie was not going to be the first one to do so. In this case it's a particularly revolting New Age kind of men's group, so that's alright.

Oh well. At least James Purefoy looked the part.

So let's restrict ourselves to the most beautiful shot. The closing scene, I think. Here we find yet another of the main characters we have started to know throughout the story, being sucked into the gentle, demanding, chaotic, smoky, colourful and slow whirlpool that is this movie's Istanbul. An antique cigarette holder, a loved-one's sweater, and a calm, steady gaze over the Bosphorus. Representative, in its way, for the entire film. Understatement at its finest.

Enjoyable. Light flick about the stormy first love affair between the unwanted, unloved, intelligent gay teenager who will no doubt grow up to become a successful out and proud journalist or playwright (stereotype), and his athletic, popular, upper middle-class, good-looking 'straight' school mate who obviously has not yet had a single original thought in his life, and, by the looks of it, will have had precious few by the time he graduates from Oxford (stereotype). Comic relief courtesy of the fat, melodramatic girl next door who nibbles too much chocolate, to hide her essential uncertainty and need for love (stereotype). There is also, of course, the dastardly villain whose hairline is kept from plummeting only by his sturdy mono-brow (stereotype), the 'progressive' Eng.Lit. teacher who constantly gives the impression of having a ponytail (stereotype), and the loving mother who suspected all along... (stereotype). Of course all of this is more than made up for by the father, who, instead of being the newspaper-reading dullard who likes his soccer televised, is actually a photographer and science-fiction fan who even dons a space suit for his convention visits.

But it was a delight to see the actors make those stereotypes come to life. The overall result was recognizable, tragic and funny. Sentimental, but then so am I. The Steven character comes away stronger for his ordeals, while the John Dixon character has "Michael Portillo" written all over him: but what makes the ending worthwhile is the fact that Dixon may save himself yet. Given a miracle or two.

Oh, and - to paraphrase an earlier review - there remains the question why an intelligent, good-looking boy like Steven would fall for an obvious fake like John. I mean, it isn't as if he is even that attractive. Tall, dark and tanned yes, but a blockhead nonetheless, hopelessly caught up in the mores of his milieu and the pressure of what is 'expected' of him.

But what really grabbed me was the intolerance and bigotry portrayed here. I could not believe that in a 'civilized' country like the UK a school paper would be forbidden from publishing an article featuring homosexuality. I had a very similar experience at Steven's age, writing an article for the school paper to express my loneliness, and no one would even think of censoring it. This was in 1982; school magazines were edited and set by hand instead of on a flashy Macintosh; teenagers did NOT have a PC on the desk in their bedroom. But my article was published. Of course in the Netherlands there was no Section 28. If this picture of modern day UK is accurate, God Help The Queen.