Author

Simon Dillon

Simon Dillon was born the year Steven Spielberg made moviegoers terrified of sharks. He enjoys talking about his favourite films far too much, and if you cut him he bleeds celluloid. However, he also finds God speaks to him through films (amongst other things). He also fancies himself as a bit of a storyteller, and his novels include Children of the Folded Valley, The Birds Began to Sing, Love vs Honour and Uncle Flynn. He lives in Plymouth in the UK, with his wife and children, and enjoys brainwashing the latter with the movies and novels he loved as a child.

Lifestyle

Movies with a Message: Casablanca (1942)

by Simon Dillon November 10, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

Casablanca (1942)
UK Certificate: U
US Certificate: PG
Intended audience: Adults

Along with Chinatown, Casablanca is frequently cited as having the greatest single screenplay of all time. This is despite the fact that three individuals are credited for it (Julius J Epstein, Philip G Epstein and Howard Koch), plus one uncredited writer (Casey Robinson), and the fact that it is based on a play (by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison). Indeed, during production, no-one expected Casablanca to be anything more than a routine wartime propaganda picture that would do moderate business.

Yet once production concluded, that peculiar alchemy which very occasionally turns lead into gold transformed a run-of-the-mill movie into a classic. The superbly paced, exquisitely witty, exciting, romantic and touching screenplay for Casablanca is indeed the backbone of what makes it great, but everything else is sublime too – from the direction (Michael Curtiz) to the lead performances, support performances, editing, cinematography, musical choices and so forth.

For those unfortunate enough to have never seen it, the plot concerns Rick (Humphrey Bogart); a cynical American ex-pat who owns an upmarket nightclub in wartime Casablanca. Rick remains determinedly neutral and “sticks his neck out for no-one” (as Peter Lorre’s unfortunate Ugarte discovers during the opening act). He is also friends with ultra-corrupt Vichy Police Chief Renault (Claud Rains), who warns Rick that letters of transit vital for escape to America have gone missing. In fact, said letters have fallen into Rick’s hands prior to Ugarte’s demise, and are coveted by Victor Lazlo (Paul Henreid) an important figure in the Czech resistance. When Lazlo and his wife Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) turn up at Rick’s club, German Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt) makes it clear that he intends for Lazlo and his wife to remain trapped in Casablanca, unable to escape to America to continue Lazlo’s work. However, Rick’s neutrality is put to the test due to the presence of Ilsa, with whom he had a love affair, some years previously.

Thus begins one of the most memorable screen romances of all time. But Casablanca isn’t just a love story with genre elements of the wartime thriller and musical. Yes, it really tugs at the melodramatic heartstrings, with tremendous chemistry between Bogart and Bergman, but the message of personal sacrifice for the greater good – even when it breaks the heart – proved hugely important during World War II. That message remains relevant today, and is one of the reasons why Casablanca has endured as a classic for decades.

However, in closing, I would again draw your attention to the brilliance of the superb, spare screenplay; where not one line is wasted, and indeed many of the lines are among the most quoted (or misquoted) in cinema history. The likes of “Here’s looking at you kid”, “Round up the usual suspects” and “We’ll always have Paris” are regularly trotted out even by those who haven’t seen the film. In that respect, Casablanca’s screenplay has a legacy akin to that of a Shakespeare play.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

November 10, 2017 0 comment

Lifestyle

Movies with a Message: The Sound of Music (1965)

by Simon Dillon November 3, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

The Sound of Music (1965)
UK Certificate: U
US Certificate: G
Intended audience: All ages

To some, The Sound of Music is a nauseating wallow in sugary sentimentality. I have a certain amount of sympathy with that view, though I must confess I do not share it. For me, The Sound of Music remains, after all these years, a wonderful, uplifting, hugely redemptive story with some of the most memorable songs ever heard in a Hollywood musical.

Adapting the Rodgers/Hammerstein stage play (itself loosely based on a true story), this is director Robert Wise’s most famous film. An extremely versatile director, Wise worked with multiple genres (his last film prior to this was classic horror The Haunting), but before The Sound of Music he had the equally brilliant West Side Story under his belt, which meant he really knew how to stage an epic musical. And epic this is; opening with that incredible helicopter shot over the Alps circa 1930s Austria, culminating in novice nun Maria (Julie Andrews) appearing on the mountainside and singing “the hills are alive…” oh, you know what happens.

But in case you are one of the two people on the planet that don’t, Maria is subsequently sent to be governess to the seven children of Captain Von Trapp (Christopher Plummer), a widower whose grief has driven him to run his home like one of his ships, with all fun, jokes, play and music strictly prohibited. Of course, Maria gradually sets things right, bonding with the children and later falling in love with the Captain himself. The course of true love inevitably has a few bumps along the way (chiefly in the form of Eleanor Parker’s Baroness), but after many classic songs (including Doe-Ray-Me and Favourite Things), and some wisdom from the Mother Superior, a wonderfully elaborate wedding ensues.

Then of course the Nazis in turn up in the last act and ruin everything. Where would movies be without those monumental spoilsports? The Captain, an Austrian patriot, despises the Nazis and all they stand for, but will the Von Trapp family manage to escape to Switzerland? After the Captain is drafted into military service, they have no choice but to try.

Here, in the final stretches of the film, the most interesting spiritual elements kick in. Yes, before then we’ve had lots of heartwarming stuff about the hardness of grief being melted by song, a wonderful metaphor for the Holy Spirit bringing comfort and hope, not to mention love. But standing up against unimaginable evil becomes a key theme in the finale, in terrific moments such as the defiant singing of Edelweiss at a concert with Nazi officials in attendance. Then we have poor, hopelessly-out-of-his-depth Rolf (Daniel Truhitte), a young man whose previous romantic interest in Von Trapp’s eldest daughter Liesel (Charmian Carr) has been driven from him through brainwashing by the Hitler youth. I always find the moment where the Captain begs Rolf to abandon his Nazi allegiance particularly sad, especially as one ill-judged comment from the Captain ultimately causes Rolf to make his tragic choice.

In final analysis, I can think of few films as warm, opulent, and immensely nostalgic as this one. The term “feel good” is often abused, but when it genuinely applies, as it does here, watching really can provide that wonderful sensation of feeling much better when you leave the cinema than before you went in. Yes, it’s all a bit saccharine at times, but every time I watch it, I am bludgeoned into submission by the songs and sheer entertainment factor. Besides, if nothing else, I find it impossible not to blub at Captain Von Trapp’s immensely moving “You brought music back into this house” moment. Pass the tissues…

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

November 3, 2017 0 comment

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Movies with a Message: Chariots of Fire (1981)

by Simon Dillon October 20, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

Chariots of Fire (1981)
UK Certificate: U
US Certificate: PG
Intended audience: Adults

Despite the fact that I think Raiders of the Lost Ark deserved to win Best Picture at the 1981 Oscars, I still have a tremendous love for the film that beat it: Chariots of Fire. A perennial favourite amongst Christians, Chariots of Fire remains a stirring, inspirational piece of work over thirty-five years since its original release. Familiarity, parody and the theme tune by Vangelis becoming embedded in the popular consciousness have not dimmed its considerable power.

Based on the true stories of 1924 Olympic athletes Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross) and Eric Liddell (Ian Charleston), the film explores the motives and character of each man. Strict Scottish Presbyterian Liddell runs for the glory of God, whereas Abrahams runs against institutional anti-Semitism. One sequence of Abraham’s training features Gilbert and Sullivan’s For he is an Englishman from HMS Pinafore on the soundtrack, to amusingly ironic effect. Liddell by contrast anguishes over whether or not he should run on a Sunday.

The leads are excellent, and the supporting turns by the likes Nicholas Farrell, Nigel Havers, John Gielgud and Ian Holm equally so. Director Hugh Hudson’s memorable use of slow-motion has since become cliché, but it works very well here. The finely observed screenplay also has an agreeably, anti-authoritarian edge to it, which cleverly counterpoints the sentimentality. Pot shots are taken at everyone from snobby, casually anti-Semitic Cambridge porters and professors to the Prince of Wales. At one point, there is an understated but powerful condemnation of the age of Enlightenment, when one of the Olympic Committee berates the godless attitudes that ultimately led to the First World War.

Ian Charleston’s terrific performance really sells moments where Liddell delivers sermons in the rain, or expresses how he doesn’t want children growing up thinking God is a spoilsport, which makes his principled stand all the more believable. Such angst ridden Presbyterianism should not be misconstrued as merely a legalistic refusal to run on Sunday, but a desire to honour God even above one’s ambition; a lesson sadly unheeded by many Christians (let alone non-Christians) today. The upshot of Liddell’s inward struggle packs an unashamedly sentimental wallop, and remains intensely moving, never failing to bring a tear to my eye.

In short, Chariots of Fire is worth revisiting again and again, even if I think Raiders of the Lost Ark deserved that Best Picture Oscar more.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

October 20, 2017 0 comment

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Movies with a Message: The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

by Simon Dillon October 9, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001. 2002, 2003)
UK Certificate: PG (The Fellowship of the Ring), 12 (The Two Towers, The Return of the King)
US Certificate: PG-13 (all three films)
Intended audience: Older children and adults

First, full disclosure: The Lord of the Rings is my favourite novel of all time. I have regularly re-read JRR Tolkien’s epic masterpiece ever since I first encountered it at the age of nine. I probably know my way around Middle-Earth better than I know my way around the city I live in, which is perhaps a little worrying.

You can imagine my anxiety when I heard Peter Jackson was tackling my “precious” favourite novel. Even when the first instalment, The Fellowship of the Ring, was about to hit cinemas, to a chorus of outstanding reviews, I remained cautiously sceptical. After all, we’d been here before, with Ralph Bakshi’s 1978 animated version, which covered roughly the first half of the story. The best that could be said about that film was that it was a very brave try at an essentially impossible project.

Needless to say, when I finally went to the cinema to see Fellowship, ten minutes in I was completely sold. Peter Jackson had somehow managed a brilliant adaptation of this supposedly unfilmable classic. The film succeeded on multiple levels. The essentials of the plot – evil ring must be destroyed – remained intact, whilst Jackson and screenwriters Fran Walsh and Phillipa Boyens stripped back everything that wouldn’t have worked onscreen, and emphasised everything that would. The result was pure cinematic magic.

The casting is perfect to the point that meeting the characters is like meeting old friends. Elijah Wood is excellent as Frodo, the hobbit who inherits the Ring of Power from Bilbo. An equally excellent Ian Holm brilliantly captures the tragedy of the latter character. Sean Astin plays Frodo’s gardener and loyal friend Sam, another superb bit of casting. Dominic Monaghan’s Merry and Billy Boyd’s Pippin round out the hobbit cast; bringing not just comic relief, but in the later films unexpected heroism and pathos.

Uniting with the hobbits against the forces of the evil Dark Lord Sauron are humans; including hushed-up king Aragorn (a very memorable Viggo Mortensen) and valiant but proud Boromir (one of Sean Bean’s very best he’s-obviously-going-to-die performances). In The Two Towers, Aragorn joins forces with the people of Rohan, including their King Theoden (Bernard Hill), and warriors including Eomer (Karl Urban) and Eowyn (Mirando Otto). The latter becomes part of a sort-of love triangle which also includes Aragorn and his Elven betrothed Arwen (Liv Tyler).

Speaking of Elves, the excellent Hugo Weaving crops up as Elrond, the equally excellent Cate Blanchett plays Galadriel, and Orlando Bloom, not an actor I generally care for, contributes his one unquestionably iconic turn as Legolas. Oh, and I’ve forgotten to mention other humans that turn up in the later big battles, including Faramir (David Wenham) and his soon-to-go-mad father, Denethor (John Noble). Then there’s good wizard Gandalf (definitively portrayed by Ian McKellen) and turncoat wizard Saruman (Christopher Lee)…

As you can see, Jackson has quite a cast of characters to keep track of as the story progresses. But by listing them I emphasise my original point: these actors genuinely own these characters. Perhaps most astonishingly of all, Andy Serkis contributes a groundbreaking motion capture performance as Gollum – a creature tormented and twisted by long ownership of the Ring, played as a kind of schizophrenic drug addict. Gollum’s role in the narrative is absolutely pivotal, and more on that soon.

Suffice to say, the direction, production design, editing, sound and visual effects are absolutely outstanding. In set piece after magnificent set piece across three films, spectacular moments are vividly brought to life – from the rustic beauty of the Shire and the frightening appearance of the Black Riders, to the thrilling chase in the Mines of Moria, the mystical realms of Rivendell and Lothlorien, the surrealism of the Ents, the fierce battle of Helm’s Deep, the dazzling white city of Minas Tirith, the armies of the dead, the horror of Shelob’s lair, the fires of the land of Mordor… Really I could go on and on.

The cinematography is staggeringly beautiful, making brilliant use of New Zealand locations, and Howard Shore’s music score for all three films is every bit as epic, magnificent and stirring as John Williams’s score for the Star Wars films. In short, The Lord of the Rings trilogy is outstanding on every artistic level, and I will brook no argument to the contrary. Only someone with a clinical aversion to fantasy could fail to be captivated by it, and if that is you, I can only recommend seeking urgent medical treatment.

However, it is the spiritual themes running through both Tolkien’s novel and Jackson’s films that give real weight to the story. Firstly and most obviously, this is probably the greatest story ever written (not counting the Bible) about the battle between good and evil. Yet this isn’t just about uniting against external evil, but far more profoundly, about overcoming the evil within oneself. The Ring is a brilliant metaphor not only for evil but also temptation and sin. The lure of the Ring works differently with all who come into contact with it, promising absolute power but gradually bringing those who take it under the dominion of the Dark Lord, regardless of their good intentions.

Nowhere is this better demonstrated than in the character of Gollum, who does not gain the Ring through good intentions, but through murder. For five hundred years, his “precious” Ring is both an obsession and a torment to him. He both hates and loves the Ring, just as being a slave to sin means we are both drawn to it and repulsed by it. Perhaps the universal nature of this temptation metaphor is why the novel and the films have resonated so profoundly for generations.

Of course, Gollum’s own path in the story is crucial. Bilbo once had the opportunity to slay him, but instead took pity and spared his life (in The Hobbit, a masterpiece in its own right, but also a novel that essentially acts as a prelude to The Lord of the Rings). Frodo initially laments this decision, given the trouble Gollum causes subsequently, but Gandalf warns him not to be too quick dealing out death in judgement, and that his heart tells him Gollum has some part to play, for good or ill, before the end. “The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many” Gandalf says, and is ultimately proved correct.

If anything, Tolkien’s own faith, clearly inherent in the novel, is even stronger in the films. For example, when Gandalf performs a quasi-exorcism on the possessed King Theoden, the clearly Christian themes are even more explicit onscreen than in the text. The Lord of the Rings is not an allegory, but it is possible to read certain characters as representative of the Trinity. For example, Frodo’s exhausting struggle up the slopes of Mount Doom, carrying the Ring, the ultimate evil, makes one think of Christ carrying his cross, bearing the weight of the sins of the world. Gandalf could represent the Holy Spirit; counselling, guiding and leading (he also experiences his own death and resurrection). And most obviously, Aragorn’s return as King of Gondor makes one think of the future return of Jesus Christ as King of the Earth.

Beyond all this, The Lord of the Rings extols cardinal virtues including courage, kindness, loyalty, sacrifice and friendship. On the latter point, the films are intensely moving, showing the camaraderie and bonds that develop between characters throughout their many adventures. On another note, the films reflect Tolkien’s intense dislike of destructive greedy industrialisation ravaging the countryside, especially in the bizarre but brilliant, punch-the-air battle where the Ents attack the fortress of Isengard. Seeing trees come to life and take revenge against those who tore down forests for evil gain is oddly satisfying. As a child I recall greatly lamenting when woodlands were cut down near where I lived so housing estates could be built, so I’ve always had great sympathy with Tolkien on this issue.

Yet even more than that, for me The Lord of the Rings is about growing up. It is shot through with the melancholy, bittersweet feelings at the end of an era, especially regarding the plight of the Elves, whose magic will end either way, regardless of whether or not the Ring is destroyed. The inevitability that one day we have to leave this world behind, even though we have a great eternal hope, looms like a shadow even in moments of triumph. As with the novel, The Lord of the Rings films will grip you, thrill you and frighten you. They will make you laugh, gasp, cry and think, but ultimately they will break your heart.

As Gandalf says in the finale, “I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.”

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

October 9, 2017 0 comment

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Movies with a Message: Blade Runner (1982)

by Simon Dillon October 6, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

Blade Runner (1982)
UK Certificate: 15
US Certificate: R
Intended audience: Adults
Content warning: Strong violence, brief nudity.
NOTE: spoilers are present throughout this review.

When Blade Runner was first released in 1982, it was not well received. Panicked studio executives who were baffled by Ridley’s Scott’s ground-breaking science fiction vision insisted on cutting key scenes, adding an explanatory voiceover and tacking on a completely out of place happy ending. Despite such measures, audiences still stayed away in droves and the critics were indifferent at best.

However, throughout the 1980s, Blade Runner acquired a cult following on video. I first saw it in this format, and despite being damaged goods I could immediately tell the film was a blatant masterpiece. The plot – in the near future, an elite “Blade Runner Unit” policeman tracks down and kills rebellious escaped slave androids called replicants that have developed emotional responses – proved a mere hook on which the lavish visual experience hangs. What most impressed me was how incredible the film looked. This is a film to wallow in, to lose oneself in, especially on a big screen (I have since seen it four times at the cinema during various re-releases). Expressions such as “visually astonishing” seem pathetically inadequate when describing the rain drenched noir production design that practically invented the cinematic dystopian future, or at least popularised beyond Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, an undoubted influence.

Critical reappraisal finally occurred in the early 1990s, with the release of a director’s cut that removed the voiceover and happy ending. More importantly, this new cut restored the legendary unicorn dream sequence, which allows for a much more interesting interpretation of the plot.

Some have accused the cast’s performances of being distant and cold, and that is deliberate, but I find that to be a most superficial reading of what is in fact a profoundly emotional film. The way the replicants are overwhelmed by their newfound emotions and try to learn how to respond to them is what gives the film its incredible poignancy and quiet power. It is also perhaps the reason the film has endured the way it has. Consider, for instance, the way Roy (Rutger Hauer) and Pris (Daryl Hannah) awkwardly kiss, mimicking human behaviour.

Blade Runner is a film about loneliness, that most frightening of human conditions. In this world everyone lives alone, except the replicants, who band together trying to find some meaning to life. The hoary old what-does-it-mean-to-be-human question lies at the core of all great science fiction, but Blade Runner asks more specific questions. What does it mean to have feelings? To have a soul? Does that give you moral responsibility? What does it mean to meet your maker?

The powerful scene where Roy meets Tyrell (Joe Turkell) can be read as an atheistic lashing out against the irresponsibility of a so-called god that cannot fix what he created, as well as a musing on the dangers of AI technology. There is something childlike and heartbreaking in the way Roy subsequently weeps over the bloodied corpse of Pris, recently gunned down by Deckard (Harrison Ford) during the finale. Essentially the replicants are children, and the cruelty with which they are efficiently dispatched is deliberately designed to leave the viewer reeling and confused. It is, for instance, impossible to imagine even the most morally depraved audience cheering when Deckard shoots Zhora (Joanna Cassidy), as she smashes through endless panes of glass in slow motion. Roy challenges Deckard, and by extension the viewer, when he says “I thought you were supposed to be good? Aren’t you the good man?”

And therein lies the rub. Is Deckard a man at all? Or is he, like Rachel (Sean Young), unknowingly a replicant? I won’t get into that unending debate here (for my money, he is definitely a replicant), but another thing that makes Blade Runner an endlessly fascinating experience is watching two machines – Deckard and Rachel – developing emotional responses, discovering their implanted memories are phony, and nevertheless falling in love. The moment where Deckard seems almost, for a moment, to force himself on Rachel has been criticised as misogynist by some, but I disagree. Again, that entire scene simply shows two machines overwhelmed by the feelings they have developed, and as such they aren’t entirely sure how to respond. The scene has a deliberate awkwardness to it, and framed in that context it is actually quite poignant.

Then obviously we come to Roy’s justly famous “tears in rain” speech. It’s difficult now, so many viewings later, to recall the initial impact and surprise of Roy deciding to save Deckard’s life at the last minute, but it remains an incredibly powerful and almost unbearably sad scene. The speech is celebrated and endlessly quoted, but it is also the visuals (which include crucifixion imagery) that burn themselves so vividly in the memory. When Roy’s head falls and he lets the dove go, I always want to cry. All of this is scored so perfectly to Vangelis’ music that it remains one of cinema’s greatest moments.

Endlessly intriguing, visually staggering and emotionally enigmatic, Blade Runner deserves its reputation as a bona-fide science fiction classic. I only hope Denis Villeneuve’s long-awaited sequel proves worthwhile.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

October 6, 2017 0 comment

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Movies with a Message: The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather Part II (1974)

by Simon Dillon September 29, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather Part II (1974)
UK Certificate: 15
US Certificate: R
Intended audience: Adults
Content warning: Violence, strong language, brief nudity.

Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather and The Godfather Part II are, respectively, the greatest gangster film ever made and one of the greatest ever stories of power and corruption. In fact, I frequently point to The Godfather as exhibit A to refute boorish book-is-always-better-than-the-film arguments (Jaws is my other vital exhibit). For the purposes of this review, I intend to examine both films (omitting the superfluous and inferior The Godfather Part III, which whilst entertaining on its own terms, pales in comparison to its illustrious predecessors).

“I believe in America. America made my fortune…” So begins The Godfather, as Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) listens to a story from a man begging him to take revenge on the men who beat up his daughter. We are introduced into this mafia world on the day Vito’s daughter Connie (Talia Shire) is to be married to Carlo (Gianni Russo), a man whom Vito warns should be given a living, but not ever be a part of the family business.

The opening wedding sequence introduces most of the principal characters, including Vito’s sons – hot-headed Sonny (James Caan), Fredo (John Cazale) and the main protagonist Michael (Al Pacino), a man who initially renounced the family business and instead enlisted, becoming a war hero in World War II. We’re also introduced to the Corleone family lawyer Vito’s adopted son Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), and Michael’s fiancée Kay Adams (Diane Keaton).

What this opening wedding does, quite brilliantly, is set up the drama in terms essentially asking the audience to sympathise with violent criminals. True, they aren’t portrayed as the good guys exactly, but we are asked to admire their sense of family and fierce loyalty. Besides, being a gangster looks fun, especially at this bright, colourful wedding celebration. Or rather, it does at first…

And here is where The Godfather excels itself, as a nigh-on Shakespearean tragedy. Michael wants a quiet life with Kay, but events conspire to drag him back into the family business. The gripping drama sometimes explodes into strong bloody violence, and indeed some of the set pieces are notorious – from the horse’s head in the Hollywood mogul’s bed (famously inspired by an unsubstantiated but all too believable story about how Frank Sinatra got the part in From Here to Eternity) to the fierce tollbooth shooting.

On a spiritual level, what The Godfather explores, quite provocatively, is family idolatry. Family is idolised and prized above all else, even to the point where those involved are willing to commit murder. Michael argues that everything he does – including a massacre he orders which takes place whilst he attends a christening – is for the good of his family, but by the ending it is clear where this path will ultimately take him.

Which brings me to The Godfather Part II. Frequently lauded as the greatest sequel ever made, this is less a gangster film and more a riveting study of how absolute power corrupts absolutely. This time the story cuts between Michael’s consolidation of the Corleone criminal empire during the 1950s, and the tale of the younger Vito (Robert De Niro) as a Sicilian immigrant in turn of the century New York. Vito’s rise to power is contrasted with Michael’s increasingly ruthless actions, resulting in an extraordinary epic that takes in several fascinating chapters of history (including the revolution in Cuba and McCarthyism).

The wedding at the start the first film is cleverly mirrored by the christening at the start of the second film, only this time things are very different. Being a gangster doesn’t look as much fun anymore. Guests are bitter, disappointed, drunken and frustrated. One key character laments that the band don’t know any of the traditional Italian songs. This very much sets the tone for the 1950s segments, and the argument that Michael does all he does for the good of his family is less convincing this time. Nor are we meant to be convinced by it.

In the Vito timeline, younger versions of characters first introduced in The Godfather appear, and our knowledge (from the first film) of exactly where they end up adds considerable poignancy. There are many thrilling sequences, such as one where Vito takes down a local Don in his rise to power.

But one of the most electrifying moments comes during a sequence in Havana, where Michael confronts his brother Fredo over a terrible betrayal (“I know it was you Fredo. You broke my heart…”). Power becomes an all-consuming cancer to Michael, and the sheer coldness with which he eliminates his enemies is terrifying. But worse is still to come, in the tragic culmination of his relationship with Kay and the question over what to do about Fredo… Ultimately Michael is triumphant, but he is also alone, isolated by his appalling achievements. The spiritual consequences of his actions, evident in that final, brooding shot, are abundantly and chillingly clear.

Speaking of Michael, this second film features Al Pacino’s finest ever performance. The rest of the cast in both films (especially De Niro) is excellent too, and the music (Nina Rota), editing, cinematography, choice of locations and so on are all absolutely first rate. On an artistic level, everything in these films is off-the-charts brilliant.

Finally, on a lighter note, it’s interesting how many quotable lines in The Godfather films ended up permeating popular culture – everything from “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer” to “Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes”. Just be careful if someone tells you they are going to “make you an offer you can’t refuse”

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

September 29, 2017 0 comment

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Movies with a Message: E.T. The Extra Terrestrial (1982)

by Simon Dillon September 22, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

This week: E.T. The Extra Terrestrial (1982)
UK Certificate: U
US Certificate: PG
Intended audience: All ages

Let me say up front that E.T. The Extra Terrestrial is my favourite film of all time. It is also a genuinely great piece of cinema worthy of inclusion in any list of the greatest films ever made, and I will brook no argument to the contrary. Aside from the fact that the film is outstanding on every artistic level and an acknowledged classic, E.T. essentially converted me to cinema in a Damascus-Road type experience as a seven-year-old, circa 1982.

For those who have had deprived childhoods or otherwise somehow not seen this, the plot concerns a benevolent alien accidentally stranded on Earth who befriends a young boy dealing with the separation of his parents. The boy, Elliot, names the alien E.T. and helps him secretly build a transmitter, enabling him to “phone home” and ask his spacecraft to return and pick him up.

This is Steven Spielberg’s greatest film, and as director he is in complete command of his material. Take the superb, wordless opening; a terrifying night chase in the forest that had my heart in my mouth when I saw the original release as a child in 1982. Or the brilliant way he shoots most of the film at a child’s eye level, mostly depicting adults the way they appear in Tom and Jerry cartoons, from the waist down. Then you have that iconic moon bicycle fly-by; one of the most memorable images in cinema history. These and many other moments were the reasons I fell in love with movies in the first place.

The cast are uniformly superb. Henry Thomas, Drew Barrymore and the often overlooked Robert MacNaughton (as Elliot, his younger sister Gertie, and older brother Michael respectively) provide the greatest, most convincing, most realistic child performances I have ever seen. Dee Wallace is equally good as Elliot’s mother Mary, and Peter Coyote is wonderful as NASA scientist Keys; at first a menacing presence (depicted from the waist down with a set of keys hanging from his belt, complete with jangling sound effects), he later confesses to the same loneliness as Elliot, longing for a friend from another world.

Melissa Mathison’s deceptively simple screenplay (which contains zingers such as “How do you explain school to higher intelligence?”) strikes a perfect balance between thrills, comedy, tragedy, reflection and exhilaration; celebrating childhood innocence, courage, and love. Its piercingly astute examination of a child’s world is reflected no better in the quite brilliant scene where the mother is literally unable to see a drunken alien staggering around her kitchen because she is so absorbed in the stresses and concerns of the adult world.

E.T. is also about the universal human need for home, something anyone can relate to, as well as prejudice. E.T. himself is deliberately ugly, and at first quite frightening, but later when Elliot reaches out to him, the subtle but inherent message that people should not be judged on how they appear but on the content of their character becomes clear.

On top of all this, the film contains a plethora of Christ allegories. E.T. comes down from the heavens, is sheltered in humble surroundings, performs miracles (healings, and later far more spectacular feats), dies, rises again, and ascends. Nowhere is this allegory more apparent than the almost unbearably upsetting scene where E.T. gets sick from being on Earth too long and the NASA scientists find him.

To have the safe, familiar atmosphere of one’s home violated and transformed into a nightmare of hazmat outfits, plastic sheets and invasive scientific equipment is a truly terrifying idea for children, and as such acts as a deeply traumatic crucifixion metaphor – nothing less than a stroke of psychological brilliance on Spielberg’s part. E.T.’s subsequent death is so upsetting that for a child really nothing in the history of cinema compares to it, except possibly the death of the mother in Bambi. However the scene is also Exhibit A in Spielberg’s genius at manipulating the audience. Viewers are weeping one minute and laughing the next, as Elliot absurdly attempts to cover up E.T.’s subsequent resurrection by pretending to cry.

Every other aspect of the film, from the editing to the cinematography and special effects, are absolutely outstanding. However, the real man-of-the-match award (other than Spielberg) has to go to composer John Williams. His Oscar-winning music for E.T. is, for me, the greatest score for any film ever made, even excelling his outstanding work on other films. Just watch and listen to the act three chase and finale. Never have I seen such a perfect fusion of music and image, culminating in arguably the single most exhilarating moment in any film ever made, as E.T. levitates the bikes and they soar into the golden sunset. Adjectives such as magnificent and soaring fall pathetically short of describing the emotions experienced.

It’s mostly because of the very last scene that E.T. is frequently cited as the most tear-jerking film of all time, but it’s certainly an “up-cry”. Even though E.T. has to say goodbye to the children and go home, this is emotionally satisfying and above all, right. What’s more the appearance of a rainbow as the spaceship flies off is a beautiful and appropriately hopeful image indicating that Elliot’s experience has empowered and changed him for the better. Certainly that was the case for me, when I first saw the film as a child. Even now, countless viewings later, it remains an absolutely lovely experience every time I watch it.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

September 22, 2017 0 comment

Lifestyle

Movies with a Message: United 93 (2006)

by Simon Dillon September 11, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

United 93 (2006)
UK Certificate: 15
US Certificate: R
Intended audience: Adults
Content warning: Violence, strong language, very distressing scenes.

The true story of the passengers on the only plane in the 9/11 hijackings that didn’t reach its target – begins and ends with a prayer. At the start the terrorists pray before going to the airport. At the end, the passengers say the Lord’s Prayer as they take their heroic stand against the terrorists. These moments show this was not just a physical battle but a spiritual one. I’ll return to this point later.

Made with the full endorsement of the relatives of the United 93 passengers, the film nevertheless attracted controversy during its original release, with some claiming the film was made “too soon”. But too soon or not, United 93 was and remains an outstanding achievement and is still, for my money, the best film made about the tragedy. Neither sensational nor exploitative, director Paul Greengrass’s signature documentary style (replete with “shaky-cam”) actually works very well here. He also recruits a cast of unknowns (all of whom do a great job), and even casts key roles, such as FAA controller Ben Sliney, as themselves.

Make no mistake, this is not a Friday night popcorn flick, but one of the most monumentally upsetting experiences you will ever have watching a film. The first half in particular, prior to the plane being hijacked, is excruciatingly tense. The passengers undergo the usual mundane routine of air travel, unaware of their peril and the terrorists they are rubbing shoulders with. They get frustrated at take-off delays, pay no attention to the stewardess’s safety demonstration, and make polite but disinterested small talk with one another. What makes these scenes disturbing is they are so commonplace and they are scenes we have all witnessed on countless commercial flights.

All of this is intercut with the situation in air traffic control and air force headquarters, where the broader 9/11 tragedy begins to play out. Sitting through these moments is like reliving the whole horrible experience all over again, essentially removing the barrier between the audience and the film. Wherever you were when 9/11 took place, this film will almost certainly bring back those vivid memories.

Despite this, United 93 is not needlessly depressing but overwhelmingly positive. It shows the best and worst of human nature and the power of the right snap decision under pressure – both the decisions to ground over four thousand planes, and more importantly the riveting moment where the passengers realise they are going to die anyway, but there are far more of them than there are terrorists.

Here I return to the spiritual angle. The terrorists on United 93 tried to intimidate the passengers, but their captives overcame their fear and thwarted them. This film honours their memory by showing their immense bravery and courage. It also demonstrates an important and inspiring spiritual principle about the power within everyone to overcome fear and do the right thing, however difficult, whatever the cost.

In summary, United 93 is an incredibly tense, stunningly powerful and deeply moving film.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

September 11, 2017 0 comment

Lifestyle

Movies with a Message: Chinatown (1974)

by Simon Dillon August 28, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

Chinatown (1974)
UK Certificate: 15
US Certificate: R
Intended audience: Adults
Content warning: Violence, strong language, brief nudity.

As far as I’m concerned, this is director Roman Polanski’s greatest achievement; a superb, densely plotted 1974 noir thriller that is not merely artistically brilliant, but also holds up an astonishing mirror to the time it was made, as well as offering timeless and profound spiritual insights. The screenplay, by Robert Towne, is frequently cited as one of the finest ever written; possibly the finest, alongside Casablanca.

Chinatown also features one of my favourite ever Jack Nicholson performances, as private detective Jake Gittes. Jake is initially hired by Evelyn Mulwray to spy on her husband Hollis, builder of LA’s water supply system, whom she believes is having an affair. Gittes photographs the evidence but in the ensuing scandal, it appears Jake was hired by an impersonator and not the real Evelyn Mulwray (Faye Dunaway). Subsequently, when Hollis Mulwray is found dead, Jake ends up entangled in a complicated web of deceit, corruption and murder, eventually leading to even more shocking revelations.

“Forget it Jake, its Chinatown…”

Leaving aside the absolutely first-rate direction, use of locations, lead performances and supporting cast (even Polanski plays a key bit part), what makes Chinatown so brilliant is the understated but powerful way it delves into its key themes. For example, during a confrontation with the film’s villain Noah Cross (chillingly played by John Huston), Jake gives offers a brilliant expose on the futility of greed: “Why are you doing it? How much better can you eat? What can you buy that you can’t already afford?”

Podcaster and Christian film nerd Josh Larsen speaks of movies as being like prayers, and he has described Chinatown as a “prayer of lament” akin to Ecclesiastes. I think that makes perfect sense. When the film was made, the subject matter reflected events in some of America’s most painful years. The appalling crimes that are uncovered in the latter sections, and also the bleak finale, further hold a mirror up to a 1970s society which had come to massively distrust government in an age when the innocence of the 1950s and early 1960s had been shattered by the likes of the Kennedy assassination, Vietnam and Watergate.

“Forget it Jake, its Chinatown…” is undoubtedly a prayer of lament. It is also a superb summary of an absolutely brilliant film.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

August 28, 2017 0 comment

Video

Movies with a Message: Cars (2006)

by Simon Dillon August 17, 2017

written by Simon Dillon

Cars (2006)
UK Certificate: PG
US Certificate: PG
Intended audience: All ages

During the Golden Age of Pixar (ie all their films between Toy Story and Toy Story 3), I would argue they produced not a single dud. However, some dispute this by inexplicably pointing to 2006’s Cars. I have never been able to understand why. Yes, Cars is slower paced, but in a film about burnout and enjoying life before it passes you by, this is entirely appropriate.

Director John Lasseter’s premise for Cars certainly doesn’t bear too much deep thought (one particularly hilarious article I read online recently spoke about the history of Cars containing a Cars Hitler and so on). However, although the sequels were not of the same calibre, the original film was to my mind something of a triumph, despite the story bearing an uncanny resemblance to lesser seen Michael J Fox movie Doc Hollywood.

Said story concerns up and coming Lightning McQueen, an arrogant, cocky young race car who insists he doesn’t need friends and works alone. Whilst travelling to a big race, he gets lost through a series of unfortunate incidents, and ends up wrecking the road in the backwater town of Radiator Springs. Sentenced to community service, he is told he has to repair the road before leaving. At first, he can’t wait to go (“I’m in hillbilly hell! My IQ is dropping by the second!”), but gradually he makes friends and discovers the importance of slowing down once in a while.

The colourful characters in Radiator Springs are memorable and beautifully rendered, and the vocal talents of Owen Wilson, Paul Newman and other Pixar regulars are put to terrific use. I particularly like the relationship between the “hippy” VW van and the army jeep. Also, look out for one hilarious moment involving “tractor tipping”. Bookended by two intensely exciting race sequences, Cars is rich, dramatically satisfying, and frankly hugely underrated.

Needless to say it is utterly redundant to pour superlatives on the technical qualities of the film, which after Wall-E perhaps remains Pixar’s most visually stunning and achingly beautiful to date. Every frame of widescreen space evokes a jaw-dropping wonder that to be honest really requires a cinema, or at the very least a very large television.

The subtext, about burnout, nervous breakdowns and so on, gives Cars a power to transcend its surreal setting and enables the audience to make considerable emotional investment in the characters. Lightning McQueen slowly comes to learn what is important in life, but his journey never comes across as preachy, and the lightness of touch makes the moral all the more potent.

This article was written by Simon Dillon, Author of several books, passionate film reviewer and Head of Network Planning at GOD TV. See more of his movie reviews at Simon Dillon Books.

August 17, 2017 0 comment

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