The Greatest Trick

Amazing Grace, the powerful story of 18th century politician William Wilberforce and his lifelong campaign to bring about the abolition of slavery, takes it title from the hymn written by slave trader turned Christian John Newton. There are various renditions of this classic hymn throughout the film, including a stirring bagpipe rendition which unfortunately will remind any sci-fi fan of the finale of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. However, it is an appropriate recurring motif for what is an undeniably powerful and moving experience – a good watch for the casual viewer, and nothing less than a must-see for Christians.

Ioan Grufford is captivating in the lead role. As well as providing the requisite scenery chewing political speeches, he proves excellent at portraying Wilberforce’s eccentricities, which included often inviting beggars to eat in his home and keeping endless wounded animals as pets. His friendship with Prime Minister William Pitt (a well-cast Benedict Cumberbatch), who out of political expediency had to remain publicly neutral on abolition, is also believable and interesting. When he meets his wife-to-be Barbara (Romola Garai) at a moment when he has all but given up, their romantic liaison gives him second wind to take up the abolition cause again, even though he was plagued with sickness. The “love of a good woman” subplot may be a cliché, but it rings true, probably because this is based on a true story.

Grufford, Cumberbatch and Garai get excellent support from more well known actors. Rufus Sewell is fun to watch as Wilberforce’s quirky abolitionist colleague Thomas Clarkson. Ciaran Hinds contributes a terrific performance as Wilberforce’s arch rival in parliament, Lord Tarleton, and Michael Gambon is great as rival politician turned abolitionist Charles Fox. Best of all, Albert Finney’s deeply moving portrayal of John Newton gives the film a strong emotional boost.

Steven Knight’s screenplay is structured via somewhat awkward flashbacks, which frankly rob the story of dramatic momentum, and by ambitiously romping through Wilberforce’s entire political career, certain (understandable) dramatic liberties are taken. As a result, the film has a slightly episodic feel, and it falls short of great cinema. However, director Michael Apted helms the picture solidly, and whilst I would have preferred a film on the subject of slavery to be a bit more gruesome and hard-hitting, I understand why the decision was taken to make this picture more accessible with its PG rating.

Despite this, what makes Amazing Grace a must-see for every Christian are its spiritual lessons. When discussing his conversion, Newton tells Wilberforce that sometimes God uses drizzle instead of a wave to bring about change, and it is this drip-drip of political manoeuvring to bring about a change in opinion that ultimately brought about the abolition of slavery. When Wilberforce is converted, he dithers about whether he should serve God or go into politics. He is torn until someone points out that he is called to serve God through politics. This point is more vitally important than ever at a time when the United Kingdom is under threat from increasingly insidiously anti-Christian legislation. It is my sincere prayer that Christians called to the political arena see this film, get a revelation that like Wilberforce they must be in the world but not of the world, and are inspired to take up whatever challenges they must face. For that reason alone, Amazing Grace is the single most important film for Christians since The Passion of the Christ.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.

Clint Eastwood’s Letters from Iwo Jima was originally conceived as a companion piece to Flags of our Fathers, designed to show the battle from the point of view of the Japanese. It was expected to be a relatively minor work, and that Flags of our Fathers would overshadow it. But it was Letters from Iwo Jima that got the unanimous critical acclaim and Best Picture nomination. Not only is it the superior picture by far, but it also has the potential to be regarded by future generations as highly as All Quiet on the Western Front, Paths of Glory, Das Boot and other classic war films.

Where Flags of our Fathers was sprawling and incoherent, Letters from Iwo Jima is tight and focused. Unlike its predecessor’s insights into the nature of heroism which weren’t all that remarkable, Iwo Jima is by contrast profound, understated, meditative, melancholy and moving. Its unique strength is in the way it doesn’t conform to war film cliché, and refuses to paint the Japanese as the stereotypes viewers have seen in countless other works.

It is this very strength that has been attacked by some sections of the US right-wing press (some of them unfortunately Christians), accusing the film of being historically revisionist and anti-American. But the point made by Letters from Iwo Jima and less effectively by Flags of our Fathers, is that there is good and bad on both sides in any war, and regardless of how noble the cause may be war is always hell. Scenes of Americans shooting surrendering Japanese because they are too inconvenient to guard may have ruffled a few feathers across the pond, but sometimes this was what happened.

The performances are all beautifully understated. Ken Watanabe in particular is splendid as the essentially decent General Kuribayashi, whose unorthodox strategy to dig tunnels deep within the island meant the Japanese were able to hold out far longer than they would had they dug their trenches on the beach. Kuribayashi is vilified by some of his men as an American sympathiser, because he had spent time in the US prior to the war, and because he refuses to order his men to kill themselves when all is lost.

Equally good if not better is Kazunari Ninomiya as Saigo, a baker who has been conscripted but desperately wants return to his wife and the daughter he has never seen. Ryo Kase also provides fine support as ex-military policeman Shimizu, as does Tsuyoshi Ihara in his role as Baron Nishi, a former champion at the 1932 Los Angeles Olympics. Ihara has a key scene where he treats a wounded American soldier, the outcome of which is both heartbreaking and morally profound in the way it underlines the entire point of the film. Both Japanese and American soldiers have mothers who write letters encouraging their sons to “do what is right, because it is right” and that is what both sides believed they were doing.

However, despite showing their humanity, Eastwood does not flinch from depicting the patriotic code of honour that caused countless Japanese to commit suicide rather than surrender. One particularly grisly sequence where soldiers in a cave blow themselves up with hand grenades neatly links in with a scene from Flags of our Fathers where the remains of the same soldiers are discovered by American troops. Speaking of which, it hardly needs to be said that this is a graphically violent film, but none of the blood and gore is gratuitous.

Clint Eastwood once again demonstrates his superlative old-school skills as a director. His straightforward, no-nonsense approach is always a breath of fresh air in a market saturated by “attention-span-of-a-goldfish” pacing and whiplash MTV 18-frame cut editing. By allowing the audience time to get to know the characters in the leisurely opening section, the subsequent tragic vignettes within the battle are all the more poignant. The battle scenes themselves, although effective, are relatively brief and the film is all the better for it. Instead of opting for endless spectacular visuals, Eastwood concentrates on his character’s individual stories, punctuated by the occasional brief but well-deployed flashback.

Iris Yamashita and Crash writer/director Paul Haggis provide an excellent spare screenplay, based on Tadamichi Kuribayashi’s book of transcripts from a cache of letters written by Japanese soldiers that was recently found buried on Iwo Jima. Cinematographer Tom Stern gives the film a dark, stylish look with appropriately muted colours (a war film convention ever since Saving Private Ryan). Kyle Eastwood and Michael Stevens provide the film’s minimal but effective music score.

Ultimately, this is a superb, dramatically satisfying but quietly devastating film. The humanity of the characters resonates deeply as they joke, tell stories, and fight what they know is a hopeless battle. There is a profound sense of loss as each goes to his inevitable death and as I’ve already said, this is a war film that could one day be regarded as a classic. Please don’t be put off by the Japanese subtitles, go and see it.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.

First, let me admit that I am not a fan of Jane Austen’s books. I admire her genius as a writer, and am fully prepared to admit that her stories, characters and social observations are witty and exceptionally well-crafted, but I’ve always found them a bit too squeaky clean. I much prefer the dark, passionate worlds of the Bronte sisters – Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre are two of my all time favourite novels – as they are much more suited to my temperament.

By the same token, the various television and film adaptations of Jane Austen, such as the BBC’s seminal 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice and Ang Lee’s film of Sense and Sensibility, although brilliantly adapted, acted and directed, also leave me cold. I therefore approached Becoming Jane, the latest in the current vogue of films about writers, with some trepidation.

Which makes it all the more delightful to report that Becoming Jane is very good indeed. Witty and amusing, but also moving and melancholy, it is a must-see both for fans of Austen and for fans of romantic cinema in general.

The story covers the usual territory one expects in such films – Jane Austen has a passion for writing, and would love to be financial independent by selling her work, but she is also the daughter of an Anglican priest in financial dire straits. Her only hope is to marry into money, but she is determined to marry for love. She receives an offer from a rich suitor Mr Wisley, but feels nothing for him. However, after meeting the dashing Tom Lefroy, the nephew of harsh London judge Mr Langlois, an attraction begins to develop. Of course, at first she despises him, especially as he falls asleep in one of her readings, but he offers to “broaden her horizons” in the interests of helping her writing improve, and soon he starts to resemble Mr Darcy without the money.

Speaking of Mr Darcy, the various characters in the story end up inspiring characters from Austen’s best loved novels; Jane’s sister Cassandra is Jane Bennett, her mother and father are Mr and Mrs Bennett, Lady Gresham is Lady Catherine De-Burgh, Mr Wisley has hints of Colonel Brandon, and so on. Many events in the story end up inspiring events in the novels, and obviously that is part of the fun. How much licence has been taken with the facts, I do not know. Neither do I care.

When it was announced that Anne Hathaway, an American, was playing the part of Jane, several Austen purists were incensed. Why not Keira Knightly or Kate Winslet? Well, frankly Hathaway is every bit as good here as she was in The Devil Wears Prada, and her accent is fine. Many American actors can pull off British accents (Renee Zellweger in Bridget Jones’ Diary is a good recent example), and quite honestly Hathaway fits the part like a glove in both looks and performance.

Hathaway is well matched with James McAvoy’s Tom, and there is genuine chemistry between the two. McAvoy is rapidly becoming one of the best young British actors in the business, and after the double whammy of this and The Last King of Scotland, he really has become a name to look out for.

Elsewhere, Julie Walters does a fine job as Jane’s mother as does the always excellent James Cromwell playing Jane’s father. Maggie Smith is suitably odious as Lady Gresham, and Ian Richardson is equally odious as Judge Langlois. Anna Maxwell Martin strikes a suitably tragic note as Cassandra, and there is a smattering of memorable bit parts, including Joe Anderson as Henry Austen, Jane’s deaf/mute brother.

Director Julian Jarrod’s skilled framing of widescreen space and cinematographer Eigel Bryld’s great use of natural light make this worth catching on the big screen. The story is well paced, and Adrian Johnston contributes a fine music score. Kevin Hood and Sarah William’s screenplay does lurch from witty romantic comedy to melodrama at the halfway point, but the transition feels natural, especially given that although Austen was determined to give her characters happy endings, in real life that was not always the case. Austen’s novels deliberately avoided much of what was going on in the world at the time, such as the Napoleonic war, but this film does not, and it is this slight edginess that makes Becoming Jane unique.

In final analysis, as films about writers go, this doesn’t quite reach the dizzy heights of Finding Neverland, but it’s still a fascinating insight and enjoyable romantic wallow, regardless of how many facts may have been tweaked.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.

This is the first in an occasional series of film related rants. My topic for today: cinema rage.

We’ve all experienced it. You’re sitting in the cinema immersed in a good film, perhaps during a particularly emotional or intense scene, when some inconsiderate twit lets their phone go off, and the entire audience is subjected to a track by Akon. What’s worse said twit doesn’t hurriedly and furtively turn the phone off, but instead yells into the receiver “I’m in the cinema!” It then takes massive amounts of self-control not to beat the perpetrator into a bloody pulp, and after the film you leave fuming. Bringing back capital punishment for people who answer phones in cinemas suddenly seems fair and reasonable.

As far as I’m concerned, mobile phones are the bane of modern life, but nowhere do I resent their presence more than my local multiplex. It’s not just their ringing that causes me to foam at the mouth, it’s the bright glare that distracts you from the screen when groups of 12 year old brats feel the need to text each other incessantly. I’m at a loss to understand why they bothered paying for a ticket to watch a film in the first place, if all they want to do is chat to each other. Surely they would be better off hanging around outside their local Co-op intimidating hapless customers?

Admittedly, since Orange put out their hilarious “don’t let a mobile phone ruin your movie” campaign, things have improved somewhat (check out the latest excellent addition with Michael Madsen as “the phone booth killer”). But even so, one can still be caught off guard – as I was last Friday – by inconsiderate audiences. And their weapons do not just include mobile phones. It was my misfortune to be surrounded in a smallish screen by a large group of teenagers who simply would not shut up, despite repeated pleas from me and other audience members. Of course, in the old days, an usher would have been present and asked them to leave, but modern multiplexes seem to have done away with this common sense precaution. Instead, irate audience members are forced to come out of the screen and try to find a member of staff and complain, causing them to miss part of the film.

At this point, I must make a clarification. There is a big difference between disruption and interaction. By interaction I mean where an audience laughs in comedies, screams in horror films and so forth. This can be an integral part of the cinema experience, and anyone who has been to see a film in Italy, America or certain other countries will know what I’m talking about. Although British audiences are traditionally more reserved, they can sometimes be provoked out of their apathy by a truly monumental film. For example, when I went to see the 1997 re-release of Star Wars at the Odeon Leicester Square in London, the audience mostly consisted of twentysomethings all of whom had seem the film countless times and knew it backwards. They clapped and cheered at appropriate moments, often at in-jokes best known to those fluent in Star Wars folklore (eg the stormtrooper who bangs his head). Leaving aside the fact that Star Wars is a full-on masterpiece that needs to be seen on a huge screen to be properly appreciated, there was a tremendous sense of childhood nostalgia and fun inherent in the proceedings, and the audience was interacting with the film not disrupting it.

So, how best to avoid cinema rage? I offer the following advice:

1. Don’t go on a Friday or Saturday, especially during matinee performances, and particularly avoid films likely to attract 12 year olds in a group.

2. Support your local “art house” cinema and broaden your cinematic horizons by watching something a bit different. Audiences at art house cinemas are notoriously intolerant of the slightest disruption to their viewing. One of my favourite cinemas in the country, Harbour Lights Southampton, actually at one time had a policy whereby if someone allow a phone to go off during a screening and they answered it, their name goes on a list and they are permanently barred.

3. Try to sit at the front (or near the front – I appreciate that some multiplexes have their front rows absurdly near the screen). This way, you will not only avoid troublemakers who generally sit near the back, but also the “weak bladder society” whose walk to the exits often obstruct the view.

4. Don’t be afraid of seeing U certificate family films. Troublemakers generally avoid these, and although you might think the presence of children will cause disruption, this is rarely the case since they are with their parents. What you will get is some delightful interaction – squeals of delight, gasps of amazement or occasionally parents whispering explanations of the plot, but again, this is all part of the cinema ritual for such films and entirely appropriate.

Failing the above, I recommend going armed with a hoody and baseball bat, should Christian restraint fail you (as it nearly did me last Friday).

The Illusionist tells the story of Eisenheim, a remarkable magician in nineteenth century Vienna who tries to reclaim his childhood sweetheart Sophie from the clutches of the scheming Crown Prince Leopold, who wants to marry her for political reasons. Based on the short story by Steven Millhauser, this is an enjoyably diverting tale, despite its obvious thematic similarity to The Prestige.

Edward Norton is one of the most fascinatingly watchable actors working in Hollywood today, and his performance in the lead role is every bit as good as one would expect. By contrast, Jessica Biel’s Sophie is an amiable heroine, but her role is somewhat underwritten. Paul Giamatti is excellent as a police inspector who admires Eisenheim, but has been employed by Leopold to thwart his advances towards Sophie. Rufus Sewell provides a wonderfully nasty, if one-dimensional turn as Leopold.

Director Neil Burger crafts a rich looking film, utilizing cinematographer Dick Pope’s autumnal hues which give a dreamlike tone. But it doesn’t look or feel as mesmerising as The Prestige, and ultimately, the big twist is just a bit too predictable. There is no satisfactory explanation given for the “ghosts” in Eisenheim’s most remarkable trick – one that causes people to question whether or not his magical powers are more than sleight of hand, and the whole film feels a little too short.

That said, although The Prestige is unquestionably the superior picture, The Illusionist is also worth a look, if purely as an interesting companion piece.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.

Legendary director David Lean’s classic 1946 adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations is currently enjoying a welcome re-release on the big screen. As far as I’m concerned, its the finest cinematic adaptation of any novel ever, and although Great Expectations has been filmed many times, this has never been topped, nor do I think it ever will be.

I’ve often said it would be impossible to name my favourite film, but if you held a gun to my head Great Expectations would certainly be among the top three. I first saw it when I was around nine years old and it had a profound and lasting impact on me. I had not read the book at the time, so this was not only my introduction to the greatest British film director of all time, but also to Charles Dickens’ masterpiece. Therefore, I hope you’ll forgive me if the following review is a little more personal than usual.

Anyway, for those of you unfamiliar with the story, poor orphan Pip suddenly finds his lifelong ambition to be a gentleman fulfilled when a mysterious benefactor provides him with the money to do so. As his social circle changes, he finds he is at last able to woo the love of his childhood, the beautiful Estella. But Estella’s bitter and vengeful guardian Miss Havisham has other ideas.

This is one of the most visually stunning films I have ever seen. Shot in vivid black and white, it contains several of the most iconic sequences in cinema history – from the nightmarish opening in the graveyard on the marshes (which has been endlessly imitated in countless horror films) to the eerie sequences in Miss Havisham’s house and the fire that destroys her. In fact, this is a surprisingly frightening film. I recall that when I screened it for brothers when they were children (who had seen films like Jaws or Raiders of the Lost Ark), it rather disturbed them.

Cast wise, the unforgettably colourful characters of Dickens’ novel come brilliantly to life. John Mills excels as Pip. Alec Guinness is a great deal of fun in his first major screen role as Mr Pocket. Martita Hunt makes a wonderfully cruel Miss Havisham, Finlay Currie is unforgettable as Magwich, and Bernard Miles’ dignified, kind Joe Gargery perfectly captures the essence of his character. Speaking of Joe, the scene near the end of the film where Pip wakes up to realise Joe has cared for him throughout his illness despite the way Pip treated him, remains deeply moving on every viewing.

But my favourite character in Great Expectations is Mr Jaggers the lawyer. At first he appears cynical, brash and tactless, but although he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, he is ultimately revealed to be profoundly humane, or as his assistant Wemmick says “deep as Australia”. Francis L Sullivan’s portrayal is utterly definitive.

Yet it is in the area of casting that the only slight blip in this otherwise flawless gem of a film emerges. Jean Simmons was ideal as the young Estella, but her adult counterpart played by Valerie Hobson is merely adequate. I can’t help but think someone like Vivien Leigh would have been far better, and after digging a little deeper into the films production history I discovered she had been considered for the part, but Hobson was producer Ronald Neame’s niece, which explained why she was chosen instead.

In spite of its amazing cast, it is David Lean who remains the star of the show. From this he went on to direct epic classics like Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago and The Bridge of the River Kwai, but for me this is his best film. His endlessly innovative camera angles were ahead of their time, and the use of dolly shots in particular decades later would be popularised by the likes of Steven Spielberg. The art direction is stunning, in both location and studio photography. Anthony Havelock Allan’s condensation of Dickens’ epic tome inevitably cuts and reduces certain elements of the story, but instead of merely filming what was left, Lean adapted it into the cinematic medium, emphasising what worked for the big screen and ditched what didn’t. The resultant work gets across the essence of the great novel in just under two hours of screen time, but feels like it misses nothing. It is criminal that this was beaten at the Oscars by the far less deserving Gentleman’s Agreement for Best Picture.

Although set in the Victorian era, the spiritual messages and lessons of both book and film remain timeless, on love, friendship, class prejudice, bitterness, revenge, and the nature of good and evil. Pip’s simple act of kindness in the opening scenes sets in motion a chain of events that brings to mind Matthew chapter 25 where God speaks of the reward of the righteous; “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat…Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” Ultimately, Pip is rewarded beyond his wildest dreams for his actions, and that is why for me, the film is better than the book, because it has an unambiguously happy ending. When Pip returns to Miss Havisham’s house to lay to rest the ghost of his childhood, there is something profound and spiritually thrilling in the way he defiantly yells “I have returned to let in the sunlight!” before ripping down the boards on the windows. This speaks metaphorically of breaking free from prisons of bitterness and the spiritual curses we have brought on ourselves, and to my mind is a brilliantly satisfying conclusion to one of my all-time favourite films.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.