Spots of Time: Perspectives of Precision in the Romantic and Mock-Heroic

There’s an apparent overlap in the tendencies of the romantic poets and the mock-heroic genre to take contemporary issues, and view them through an intricate, precise and fixed perception to examine the finer details of events. No stone is left unturned as Wordsworth commentates on the French Revolution and the radicalisations of late-18^th century political thought The Prelude, Blake and the Industrial revolution in his poetry, and Pope’s examination of the norms of high-society in The Rape of the Lock. So to speak, there is a recurring play on the trope, to make a ‘storm in a teacup’ (taking small events and exaggerating them well out of proportion), by these three writers, alternately playing it straight and subverting it in their various ways. In Pope’s case, there is never any question how his eloquent tongue is tasting the teacup’s contents throughout The Rape of the Lock; right in cheek, aware that ‘slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise’, and consequently never missing out the chance to make jest out of putting the petty case of a snipped lock of hair on a Homeric pedestal.

Conversely, the likes of Wordsworth and Blake use a confined scope to view larger matters; so to speak, filling up a teacup in a storm. Wordsworth takes on the ‘spots of time’ (The Prelude) of specific images and words that Wordsworth associates with childhood, like his employment of the constant repetition of words ‘earth’, ‘being’, ‘forms’, and ‘image’ in Wordsworth’s The Prelude which ‘spake to me rememberable things’ that an adult can vaguely recall, but only a child can see; with Blake, of all the many characters and circumstances he could draw upon for his poetic inspiration in 18^th-Century Britain, he chooses to focus upon the figure of a child, a Chimney Sweeper. In ‘Innocence’ he paints a bleak portrait of a labouring orphan, representing one of multitudes, for whom the image of ‘thousands of sweepers…locked up in coffins of black’, rescued by an angel with a ‘bright key’ who releases the sweeper boys to be free and run wild in an idyllic afterlife of green plains and ‘clouds and sport in the wind’ provides the only solace to his harsh life. Blake contains his commentary on the Industrial Revolution and its repercussions to a wholly ‘innocent’ perspective, a child’s perspective. Even in the ‘Experience’ poem, though there is participation by Blake’s authorial voice of inquiry (‘Where are thy father and mother? Say?’), the poem, much like Wordsworth’s ‘We Are Seven’, hands the poem’s denouement to the child’s voice.

This fixation upon specific, sometimes incoherent, moments in boyhood renders a fixation with the intimate that fuels Wordsworth’s poetry even when he moves onto less nature-based, more societal matters. In the 10^th Book: ‘Residence in France and French Revolution’, upon hearing of Robespierre’s death, he chooses to internalise his feelings rather than immediately paint the larger picture: he describes how ‘great was my glee of spirit, great my joy In vengeance, and eternal justice, thus/ made manifest’, before then moving onto the bigger images of ‘they who with clumsy desperation brought Rivers of blood’ have been punished, and finally. universalises the French Revolution by stating that ‘earth March firmly towards righteousness and peace’ as a result of this event. In these passages he gives the scene such mellifluity as akin to the childhood passages of The Prelude. Where he does provide a specific contrast, though, is in the context of this mellifluity. While in his childhood phases the poetic voice relished the “exhilaration of the skating, the vitality of the verbs, ‘gleaming’, ‘sweeping’, ‘spinning’, ‘wheeling’, the narrative push, the cheerfulness”,[1] Book 10 opens with the melancholic ‘fading’ of ‘a beautiful and silent day’. The focus is on feelings of ‘disappointment and dismay’; though there remains a hopeful ‘confidence…for the better cause’, the opening lines are suspended in a more subdued, solemn energy than before.

Clearly with maturity comes quietude in the same way youthfulness implies exuberant energy; the idealism of his younger years seems to have been tempered by an awareness that the ‘sovereign voice (that) subsists within the soul’ is more often than not, ‘earnest and blind, against the stern decree’. Towards the end of Book 10, the childlike momentum of idealism is regained as ‘uneasy bursts of exultation’ Wordsworth imagines how ‘the glorious renovation’ of justice and liberty in France may be achieved. Ending this section with ‘wantoness of heart’ and memories of his ‘former days’ with ‘schoolboys hastening to their distant home’, Wordsworth hearkens back to days of old for the energy to fuel his radicalism. The perspectives of precision remain, as there is a distinct, if not always clear-cut, contrast between the perspectives of child Wordsworth, which take the images, smells, sights and other sensations of Wordsworth’s youth, and by ‘blending and interchange turn sensation into experience, an experience of joy that will in future years spread around the mature man’s thoughts in an affective tone’[2]; and the adult Wordsworth who with ‘a weight of ages did at once descend/Upon my heart; no thought embodies, no/Distinct remembrances, but weight and power, --/ Power growing underweight’ (VIII 552-555).

There is an altogether different sort of childishness to Pope’s The Rape of the Lock; the fickle antics of many of its human characters outside of the sensible, thoughtful Clarissa, all verge upon and quite often, do dip into, the juvenile. Belinda’s preoccupation with her appearance is depicted by her toiletries being ‘in mystic Order laid—everything is detailed’ down to the most minute little information that it all becomes, quite frankly, a bit ridiculous. Her shallow obsession with all that is aesthetic, aided by her sylphs, spreads over to many of the other characters bar Clarissa who ‘alone possesses the sense to discern that “frail beauty must decay” (V .25)’.[3] Throughout the poem little things are viewed greater than the sum of their parts; most famously, perhaps, the scissor as a ‘two edg’d weapon’ which as a ‘fatal engine clos’d’. At ‘the meeting points the sacred hair dissever/ From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!’. Pope can be seen as parodying epics like Paradise Lost and The Odyssey by, like those texts, amplifying every aspect of a scene into detailed, vivid descriptions, only here the intent is not to awe, but to amuse, generating a very specific vision of events by merging these classical litotes with contemporary jargon. For example, Canto IV’s ‘Cave of Spleen’ uses the 18^th-Century term for ‘female hysteria/wit’, the diagnosis of excessive vanity and pretension, and allegorises it into an underworld not unlike that of Homer’s. 

At the poem’s end, none of the characters seem to learn a lesson. Though Belinda does in a sense, transform through the poem by changing from a ‘pious maid’ (Canto I) to a ‘fierce’ (Canto V), her fickleness remains consistent, her perspective of the world unchanging, her main preoccupation still the restoration of her lock of hair. The object of her anger is directed through a very precise outlet, and going back to Pope’s whole ‘storm in a teacup’ schematics, his satire, focused ‘on describing impressive forms of behaviour that have been emptied of their traditional content without adapting to proper modern values’[4], remains perceptively attuned to the fickleness of all this conflict. With the ‘deadly bodkin’ as a threatening weapon and characters cursing each other as ‘insulting foe (s)’, and the lock of hair itself becoming ‘such a prize no mortal must be blest’ and ‘obtain’d with guilt, and kept with pain’, Pope gets the last laugh in a long line of laughs by raising the lock of hair up to such a ridiculous standard of glory, firmly placing the whole tale in the context of his perspective as an omniscient observer who sees all and mocks all. Upon cutting off a lock of hair, the ‘villain’ Baron, who sees locks of hair as ‘trophies of his former loves’, sees the lock as a ‘glorious prize’, only to have it snatched away by the poem’s conclusion, existing far beyond the mortal lives of all our characters. By the time Belinda’s ‘tresses shall be laid in dust’ and the Baron deceased, the latter will be a forgotten memory, and the lock ‘the Muse shall consecrate to fame…’midst the stars inscribe Belinda’s name’—but the playfulness of Pope’s authorial voice belies a more serious undertone: his authorial perspective is the only one that can see how Belinda’s foolhardy vanity can ruin her posterity, by leaving her remembered in history as one who made mountains out of molehills.

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[1] Seamus Heaney, Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968-1978, London: Faber and Faber Limited, 1984, p. 67  

[2] Robert Langbaum, The Evolution of Soul in Wordsworth’s Poetry, PMLA, LXXXII, (May 1967), p.265-272

[3] John Trimble, ‘Clarissa's Role in The Rape of the Lock’, Texas Studies in Literature and Language, Vol. 15, No. 4 (Winter 1974), p. 673

[4] Ralph Cohen, Transformation in The Rape of the Lock, Eighteenth-Century Studies, Vol. 2, No. 3 (Spring, 1969), pp. 209-210

Acting for Two: Playing 'Doubles' Onscreen

There's often a very fine line between the similarities and distinctions not only the actor, but the script and direction, has to take with regards to cinematic instances of 'acting for two'. The thespian is effectively playing two completely distinctive persons, yet the whole way the film is structured must also allow for the similarities to seep through, lest the actor be accused of must doing two roles without mending any links in between, the auteur be accused of tonal indifference (which can sometimes happen when the 'twins' seem to be coming from entirely different genres), or the screenwriter lambasted for treating the two figures with unequal emphasis.

It can sometimes come across as quite gimmicky, then, to cast the same actor in two (and sometimes, more) roles with similar, and sometimes exactly the same, features. I've heard similar reservations expressed with casting actors to play multiple roles in entirely different styles and guises in the same film (see: Cloud Atlas, Kind Hearts and Coronets), and in the case of the former I can kind of see where they're coming from as the best performances in the film, by Ben Whishaw and Doona Bae, did have their strengths stem largely from the power of a singular character. But I digress; we're here to look at how onscreen twins, or 'doubles', have been portrayed over the course of cinematic history.

NOTE: I have not seen Tatsuya Nakadai in Kagemusha, which some would view as making this whole article null and entirely void. My apologies; I will definitely do so at some point as Nakadai is a great actor, and one of Japan's great cinematic national treasures.

There are also spoilers for a certain Christopher Nolan film ahead; read at your own risk...

Robert Donat in The Ghost Goes West

One of perhaps the earliest examples of an actor 'acting for two'. The incredibly underrated Donat stars  as both a down-on-his luck Scottish castle owner, and his ancestor, an 18th-Century nobleman who is haunted and haunts, by the tainting of his family name. It's a breezy, inconsequential little film that's nevertheless quite a bit of fun to watch, and though Donat struggles a bit with the accent at certain points, he's effortlessly charming and lovable as the standard love interest Donald, but really shines as the titular ghost, merging both the light and dark aspects of his screen persona into one very compelling spirit.

Elsa Lancaster in Bride of Frankenstein

Another interesting choice in that Lancaster plays both creator and creation; to be exact, in the opening scene of the film she plays Mary Shelley with a cool blend of mystique and intellect; I certainly could've gone for a lot more of her portrayal of Shelley, and can't help but think how good she would've been leading a Paul Muni-esque biopic of the author. The main meat of her performance though, comes as the titular Bride. Lancaster plays the role with  aplomb; never uttering a single word but through her incredible physical command, conveying the allure firstly to entice Boris Karloff's Creature, then the ghastly and heartbreaking rejection through her seething disgust and hatred.

Charlie Chaplin in The Great Dictator

Charlie Chaplin's always been a favourite of mine both as an auteur and actor. His whole style of performance is unimitable; no one can do what he does, as well as him, nor can they pinpoint exactly why it works so well. In 'The Great Dictator' he so seamlessly blends together comedy and pathos, slapstick and social commentary, largely due to his terrifically differentiated performance as the titular dictator, a Hitler parody who is stupendously entertaining with his gibberish German, and immaculately 'imposing' but hilarious physical comedy; and his quietly moving depiction of a downtrodden barber who finds, loses love but in the end, gains the will the stand up in defiance of tyranny. It's terrific work that finds such differences between the two figures, and yet giving them both such distinctly Chaplin-esque flavours.

Deborah Kerr in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp

Kerr's performance here is one I cannot praise enough. Three different character, three different stages of the lives of Roger Livesey's and Anton Walbrook's characters. Could've come across as a gimmicky motif, but Kerr finds such subtle differences between the three figures in terms of accent, posture, airs and somehow, managing to find in them all that same magnetic energy and presence that attracts our heroes to the fair dame. It's brilliant work that shows exactly why she became such a big star after this breakthrough performance.

Olivia de Havilland in The Dark Mirror

A flawed and not particularly well-made thriller, this is one of those films where the sub-par production is saved by the performances of its cast. Thomas Mitchell brings his usual gravitas to the role of the detective investigating a murder case, Lew Ayres bring his solid straight leading man credidentials to the proceedings, but this really is de Havilland's show. Playing both of a pair of very different sisters, one domineering and malevolent, the other soft-spoken and kindly, de Havilland pays such careful attention to the pitches of her voice, the way each sister moves her hands and body in accordance with their behaviours, showing audiences the promise she unleashed to its full potential in 'The Heiress' three years later.  Had she won her 1947 Oscar for this film instead of her uninteresting motherly performance in 'To Each His Own', I would perhaps be more forgiving of the Academy's failure to reward Celia Johnson.

Lee Marvin in Cat Ballou

I think, the first Academy Award given to an actor playing dual roles? The always solid Lee Marvin won a Best Actor gong for playing both Kid Shelleen, a drunkard cowboy, and his villanous brother Tim Strawn. Well, what can I say about this performance apart from it's a joy to watch. As Strawn Marvin is his usual menacing, imposing self, which contrasts hilariously with his bigger role as the lovable oaf Shelleen whose inebriated pratfalls are the stuff of comedic gold. Nothing particularly complex here, but in my opinion a thoroughly deserving win (I thought Burton and Steiger in the same year were great too, and Oskar Werner terrific, but Marvin's comic brilliance should not be chastitised for winning).

Jeremy Irons in Dead Ringers

The perfect depiction of a set of twins. Irons from start to finish just masterfully paints a portrait of not only two siblings but also their strange, twisted and yet oddly moving relationship with one another. The film itself is one of David Cronenberg's most understated and it's testament to Irons' brilliant performance that it sticks in one's mind as long as it does. I would write more but I'm not sure how; this, for once, is a performance that has been almost unanimously praised. I have not read one snippet of anyone, anywhere, who finds Irons here anything less than great, and the only thing holding him off my top 30 list here is a re-watch.

Lindsay Lohan in The Parent Trap

A deceptively simple performance by Lohan pre-Mean Girls. The film itself is just a sweet little family flick, but Lohan's achievement here is nothing to be sniffed at. She perfectly bridges together the comedic and dramatic aspects of the film and really makes us root for the both of the separated twins to get back together, since Lohan is just so good at generating chemistry with...herself. Her best work as an actress, definitely.


Leonardo DiCaprio in The Man in the Iron Mask

Now here's an interesting one. DiCaprio, fresh off the boat (pun intended) from his Titanic success, plays both the very very very very very evil (all five verys necessary) King Louis XIV and his secret twin, the man in the iron mask. I don't find his performance as the imprisoned, rightful king very interesting and frankly, a bit bland, but as the evil Louis I actually quite enjoyed some of his histronics and hissy fits. It's far from his best work, and it's clear DiCaprio needed some more time to properly hone his skills (which didn't take too long, fast forward to Catch Me If You Can in 2002, and not a hint of inexperience can be detected), but all in all still sterling work.

Nicolas Cage and John Travolta in Face/Off

How's this for a brain wracker? Nicolas Cage playing a terrorist who goes into a coma, whose identity John Travolta's FBI agent takes on by operating his face off; then Nicolas Cage taking Travolta's own face and making it his own...confused much? Don't overthink it. This is just one big, dumb action film by John Woo and I love it for what it is. I will say that I would have personally cast the film the other way round so we could have more of Cage's deliciously hammy Castor Troy, but both actors do well in both roles, and have a great deal of fun in taking on the mannerisms of each other.

Nicolas Cage in Adaptation

Cage again. Wonder what it'd be like to have Nicolas Cage as a brother? Wonder no more. 2002's terrific comedy-drama 'Adaptation' stars Cage as the screenwriter of the film, Charlie Kaufman, and his doofus brother Donald. I love this performance a great deal because it's just so, so, so entertaining. He is great as both the eccentric, endearing stupidity of Donald, and is surprisingly good in grounding Charlie as just a normal, albeit incredibly neurotic, guy. Their scenes together, or rather Cage's scenes with himself, are nothing but constant hilarity and at the end, genuinely heartfelt. I felt like I'd actually gotten to know both men incredibly well throughout the course of this performance, showing just how terrific it is.

Jesse Eisenberg in The Double

I think Eisenberg gets a lot of undeserved shit from the press for being a 'one-note' actor. Okay, so maybe he does do the same sort of schtick too often. But hey, it works, doesn't it? Maybe he did implement quite a lot of himself into his portrayal of Mark Zuckerberg, but that doesn't make his performance in that any less impressive. Anyway in this surrealist effort from Richard Ayoade Eisenberg plays an average joe infatuated with a co-worker (a fantastic Mia Wasikowska) only to have her attentions vied for by...a dead ringer for himself who's incredibly charismatic, and also a complete ass. Eisenberg is of course excellent at playing the incosiderate, fast-talking douchebag, but also very sweet and loveable as the sadsack lonely guy looking for love. It's very strong work which shows depths to Eisenberg hitherto unknown.

SPOILERS

Christian Bale in The Prestige

Simply put, a magnificent piece of an actor enshrouding himself in mystery on the go, and yet finding, somehow finding, time to stop and throw in hints here and there of what the character's true nature is. As both Bordens Bale just finds the perfect balance between showing their contrasting personalities, but also making sure to keep the mystery alive, and never giving the game away. I will need to watch and re-watch this performance over and over again to pinpoint which scene is which twin, on account of his variations of voice, intonation, how those eyes of his work and move, the amount of charisma and intensity he imbudes into a scene etc., and what more I can say about this performance apart from it being a beautiful, beautifully nuanced piece of work.

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Head-to-Head: Hannibal Lecter Onscreen (Brian Cox v.s. Anthony Hopkins v.s. Gaspard Ulliel v.s. Mads Mikkelsen)

Brian Cox played Hannibal Lecktor in 1986's 'Manhunter'

'Manhunter' is a decent enough thriller centered around Will Graham's (William Petersen) pursuit of the notorious serial killer the Tooth Fairy (Tom Noonan). Like most of Michael Mann's filmography it's stylishly shot and creates a great atmosphere of dread, however it never quite reaches the heights of say, The Insider and Collateral due to the relative lack of depth both script and character-wise. It's still a good film and several moments have an incredible viscreal punch, most notably by Noonan's unsettling portrayal of the incredibly twisted yet tragic Tooth Fairy, and of course Brain Cox's scenes as Thomas Harris' notorious cannabalistic, brilliant serial killer.

It's interesting to note what actors Mann was looking at for the role of Lecktor before he settled on Cox. There was John Lithgow who could've gone either way as he was great in portraying a very particular brand of controlled psychopathy in 'Blow Out', but also might've hammed it up if given the wrong direction. Mandy Patinkin who I can't really comment on, and Brian Dennehey who actually, in my opinion, would've been very interesting to see, as an example of someone who's more often cast as the brutish type playing such a smooth operator. Well instead we got Cox, who actually probably gives a similar performance to what Dennehey would have given, as he gives a very blunt portrayal of a brilliant mind with a most incisive, unrelenting tongue.

As an actor I find Cox more often than not entertaining in his usual boisterous fashion, most notably in the likes of 'Flash Gordon' and 'Troy', and particularly his brilliantly unsettling performance as Hamlet's Father in the Branagh adaptation, where he was actually my second favourite out of the supporting cast after Jacobi. Here however, as a somewhat larger than life figure, he actually gives one of the quietest performances I've ever seen him give. Unlike Hopkins who I'll get down to in a bit, Cox's Lecktor is not as off-putting from the outset, coming across as a bit off a bored genius more than anything. The whole voice and mannerisms Cox uses are all quite effective because they show exactly why Graham is seeking Lecktor's help despite their task together.

As the scene progresses, Cox leaves hints here and there of the more chilling aspects of Lecktor beyond his intelligence. Mann's stylized direction I think kind of takes away from his performance a bit in his big scene, where he 'helps' Graham on his case. Nevertheless he's an effective enough presence in the moments where he gets to shine, and I do love the moment where he asks Graham for his phone number. It's both darkly funny and deeply chilling a moment by the two actors and Cox brings so much out of this moment with that look on his face that shows an outward confidence, and an inner depravity, to his relationship with Graham. All in all this is very solid, and occasionally great, work I could've gone for a lot more of.

Brian Cox in 'Manhunter': 4/5

Anthony Hopkins played Hannibal Lecter in 1991's 'Silence of the Lambs' 

I was surprised by how much I loved 'Silence of the Lambs' when I first saw it. Having never been a fan of Jodie Foster, Jonathan Demme, the whole genre as a whole and having a sort of tenative stance towards a film which had won Best Picture in one of the weakest years in film history, and watching Anthony Hopkins in a different mode to some of my favourite performances of his ('Remains of the Day' and 'The Elephant Man' where he's incredibly understated) in both. But yeah, I loved it back then, and if I don't love it quite as much upon re-watches I do stil like it a great deal. It's got a terrific sense of atmosphere and interesting script make it a throughly engaging watch, as do some of the marvellous performances on display. Demme's direction really does excel in some choice moments and maintains that very effective sense of realistic paranoia and dread, with just the right touch of playful Hammer Horror.

Now I must say that though this is a film that is strong in many respects, acting being its strongest; and despite the likes of Ted Levine and Scott Glenn giving very good performances and Foster giving a great one, Hopkins IS the whole film. I think the whole issue of him being lead or supporting, how much or how little screentime he has, is frankly quite irrelevant to the whole conversation, and I put him in lead simply because every time he's onscreen he completely dominates it, and whenever he's offscreen you still can't forget him. A lot of this is down to Hopkins' character creation, which technically is very actor-ly and yet feels frighteningly natural. The way he arches his eyes when he speaks unblinkingly, the way he stands and sits in a way that seems so comfortable for him and yet is so uncomfortable to watch, that purring voice that (according to Hopkins) is just a sublime mix of Katherine Hepburn's New England intonation and a Capote pitch; all just fits so well into what makes Lecter tick.

Technically speaking I would kind of agree with some of the critics of this performance in that his accent, whatever accent it is, is sort of all over the place, but do I really care? After all Hannibal Lecter is from no particular place, really. He's an otherworldly yet frighteningly present presence, and Hopkins with all his little oddities and tics makes Lecter an unforgettable creation right from the very start. One of the things I love about 'Silence of the Lambs' is that Lecter, despite being capable of the most vile and disgusting deeds, never really quite elicits the reactions an audience would expect. When he mentions he enjoyed a census taker's liver with som fava beans, and a nice chianti, Hopkins makes it sound almost eloquent (the Hepburn side coming out) and classy, before making that strange and disconcerting little puckering noise which is just so animalistic and raw. Hopkins with his performance is never playing it safe and as a result creates an incredible sense of tension in ever scene he's in, so unpredictable he is and yet how oddly charismatic he can be at the same time.

Before this film Hopkins was never really thought of as a particularly intimidating physical performer, and indeed his usual screen presence preceding Silence pf the Lambs was more fitting to the refined, understated sort than being an actively menacing figure. It's incredible how Hopkins manages to mend Lecter's style and depravity so well together, then, in order to create this character who puts fear into the heart of others, sometimes without even moving a single inch. Even when constrained and masked, he can put so much grim power into his sexualised intimidation of a senator by just his voice and eyes, it's a brilliant dynamic that he settles upon with his victims. Hopkins never apologises for just how twisted Lecter is and instead chooses to revel in it all. He's having lots of fun and more importantly lets us in on it. Another thing I really like about Hopkins' portrayal is the slight comic bent he gives some scenes while remaining true to the original characterisation. He not so much winks to the audience in these clever moments but rather, Lecter winks to the audience; almost as if to show how far ahead of the game Lecter is, to the extent that he almost subconsciously breaks all the fourth walls down by how astutely aware of everything he is.

I'll get to Foster in a bit but it's amazing how in his brief screentime Hopkins manages such convincing relationships with all characters who interact with Lecter. With the kindly prison guard Hopkins instills a bit of warmth, sort of the derogatory sort as is fitting for Lecter. With the infamous semen tossing prisoner, a brand of unsettlingly cold disgust. With Dr Chilton, a seething hatred. And with Jodie Foster's Clarice Starling the two are simply transcendent in the scenes where they discuss both past and present. Hopkins is brilliant in these scenes as he works so well with Foster in generating a sense of both characters' histories so vividly. Even when he's silently listening, he just adds to the scene so much by that gaze that both twistedly invites, and bares into, your soul. I should note that I have to seen 'Red Dragon' or 'Hannibal' which apparently are much lesser variations of this great performance, so I should probably check them out. Nevertheless, this is an amazing piece of extreme acting by Anthony Hopkins that never feels like it. , my second favourite of his after 'The Remains of the Day' and just so magnificently paints a portrait of a most fascinating fiend.

Anthony Hopkins in 'Silence of the Lambs': 5/5

Gaspard Ulliel played Hannibal Lecter in 'Hannibal Rising

I don't actively hate 'Hannibal Rising' as much as some seem to, but having said that, it is a deeply flawed film in terms of direction, never really figuring out whether it wants to be a straight horror flick, or something 'deeper' with more meaning and emotional heft. Frankly I think sticking with the former would have worked out better. Some of the performances are also uncomfortably cartoonish, Rhys Ifans in particular, who I usually like as an actor, but have no idea what he was going for here. Also the whole concept of an origin story for Lecter just doesn't really work. It works far better to have the mystery to his past be concealed and revealed in brief flashes, than to construct a whole film around it; implication, I've always thought, is the best route to go with such incredibly iconic characters, and not the riskier route of a retrospective prequel which sets itself up for disappointment, which is why frankly I've never been a fan of the Star Wars prequels, or would not really flock to see an origin story for Atticus Finch (which reminds me I must read Go Set a Watchman).

Having said all this though, Ulliel isn't bad at all as this young Lecter. He has the right look of determination on his face, and a pulsating desire for revenge that is quite palatable in every act of violence, each menacing pursuit he undertakes. The film doesn't give him an awful lot to work with outside of that as, even as a lead, Ulliel's Lecter remains pretty paper-thin in most respects. He's traumatised by a childhood incident, and death of a beloved sibling, and from there on according to the film, it's just one small step into full-blown bloodthirstiness. Ulliel to his credit actually does quite a bit to make more out of this as he remembers to at the same time, depict Lecter's burgeoning intellect by the increasing confidence and self-assurance he seems to have with each murder. Also I would say he, and the film, verges on becoming fairly intriguing in his scenes with Gong Li's Lady Murasaki. The two actually have a rather interesting sort of chemistry; there's a hint of love that's unsettlingly driven by a rather dark, brooding Byronic passion by Ulliel. The film could have afforded to have a lot more of this sort of interplay, that really was the meat of Hopkins and Cox's performances, and made them all the more compelling for it. Ulliel is never bad, in fact he's consistently good throughout the film, but is never really given much material to go beyond just being the best part of a bad film.

Gaspard Ulliel in 'Hannibal Rising': 3.5/5

Mads Mikkelsen played/plays/may continue playing Hannibal Lecter in 'Hannibal' (2013 - ???)

So yeah, I'm a bit confused as to what exactly is happening with the 'Hannibal' television series. Apparently it's ending in a week's time? And it's being cancelled, so frankly everything is feeling rather rushed. I haven't actually finished the series thus far yet but I decided, you know what, might as well just get into it. Anyway 'Hannibal' is a rather effective television series that, while I never really found myself loving, was consistently fascinated by. A problem I do have with it is that it's storylines are sometimes a bit sprawling and touch upon a tad too many uninteresting/poorly acted side characters, also there is the occasional awkwardness of the scripts to try and cram a bit too much in too little time (although judging by the current situation, it's probably not the creators' fault). These reservations are however, more often than not cast aside when I examine the merits of the series. It's beautifully shot, making use of music and cinematography beautifully to create such a chilling atmosphere, and thankfully its principals are all thoroughly well-acted. Laurence Fishburne as Jack Crawford is consistently solid and, when given more to do than just exposition, delivers some of the best work in his career. Gillian Anderson is brilliant as a rather twisted psychotherapist of Hannibal's, and the likes of Eddie Izzard, Michael Pitt, and Lara Jean Chorostecki, to name but a few, really excel in their recurring roles. Then there's Hugh Dancy as Will Graham who is far surpasses the already good William Petersen, a very solid and incredibly sympathetic avatar into this strange world.

There's a massive build-up to Mikkelsen's first appearance in the series and boy is it marvellous when he first comes into view, preparing a meal. Mikkelsen was perfectly cast in that he's an actor who's just intrinsically enigmatic with that unique look of his and his marvellously Machievallian intonations. I haven't even seen the best of his filmography yet and his terrific performance in this series just compels me more and more to check them out as even as a silent figure, Mikkelsen exudes such class and menace already, that you could take just several reaction shots of his throughout the series and craft a whole intriguing narrative around them already. An important thing to note about this portrayal in contrast to Cox and Hopkins' is that we're meeting Lecter at a very different point in his life. Far from being contained and in containment he's free to do as he pleases, and Mikkelsen takes this in stride with his performance, making Lecter into even more of a conniseur and hedonist, exuding oundles of charisma in his performance and making Lecter one suave guy indeed.

This version of Lecter is a bit of a troll. He likes messing around with people, like Hopkins' portrayal, but Mikkelsen differentiates his approach a bit by making it less playful and somehow, sincere. For example he shows much pleasure in messing around with the authorities and Graham, and causing excessive bloodshed for all involved, and Mikkelsen is marvellously understated and yet chilling in both showing this depraved enjoyment in fucking about with the system; and yet when Graham and not he, is incarcerated for his crimes, there's a hint of remorse and sincerity to Mikkelsen's portrayal that one quite get the hang on. Is it genuine, or is it all just a facade? Mikkelsen never quite gives the game away but instead remains deliciously ambiguous throughout. It's frankly quite frightening how even the omniscient audience is trolled into feeling affection and fondness for this fellow before Mikkelsen tears this all apart by his most vicious acts, and even then we find it hard to completely despise him. In particular, when he apologises to one of his victims, that he 'couldn't protect you in this life', Mikkelsen finds the perfect balance between cold calculation and genuine warmth and affection.

I will say though that as the series progresses and he gradually begins to lose the 'mask', Mikkelsen's performance does become slightly less complex, but no less interesting. Largely because those qualities aforementioned are still present even as he becomes increasingly more overt a villain. It's impossible not to feel excited whenever Mikkelsen's onscreen as he's electrifying in every choice moment, and when he really starts getting a kick out of the grotesqueness of his plans, the series hits its highest heights. More importantly he never loses sight of his original conception of Lecter as a soft-spoken manipulator, resisting the urge to chew the scenery, and masterfully underplaying in particular his scenes with Dancy, where both actors wonderfully share and deconstruct the dynamic of mentor and protogee. This is a terrific performance by Mikkelsen that is pitch perfect for his series, and really makes this Lecter a most perplexing, unforgettable figure.

Mads Mikkelsen in 'Hannibal': 5/5

Final Ranking:

1. Anthony Hopkins in 'Silence of the Lambs': 5/5

2. Mads Mikkeslen in 'Hannibal': 5/5

3. Brian Cox in 'Manhunter': 4/5

4. Gaspard Ulliel in 'Hannibal Rising': 3.5/5

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Sparring or Parring Partner? A Transatlantic Head-to-Head Between Female Leads in 1940s Noir/Suspense Cinema

The detective story was through the early twentieth century, had carefully constructed conventions which sometimes sacrificed characterisation for puzzle-solving and supporting characters becoming mere plot devices, towards an unambiguous resolution in which the mystery is solved, and all loose ends are tied up. One of the victims of this style of writing was the role of women; the "omnicompetence of the exceptional—male—individual somehow makes up for the incompetent state apparatuses" [1], and also render female characters who have neither capability nor reason to keep up with the male protagonist irrevelant in the grand scheme of things. Their ultimate fate will either be a swift, untimely death, being rescued by the brooding hero, or even simply disappearing from the plot, loose ends be damned.

I have to say that a great deal of 1940s cinema does feel like it follows this vein of feminine inequity within the machinations of a plot centered more on suspense and atmosphere, than properly crafted characters. Particularly, as I mentioned before, in the genre of film most linked to the contemporary resurgence of the detective story, noir/suspense cinema. For every Barbara Stanwyck in 'Double Indemnity' there were tons of stock, sultry but ultimately unsubstantial female characters prancing around onscreen. It's not like the talent pool was dwindling, it was the writing in many respects bar a few, getting rather lazy. Heck, the great Bette Davis, I believe, chose around the 1940s to start hamming it up a great deal in many performances, which I do think can be attested somewhat to the increasingly sparse numbers of good female leading roles. See her role in say, 'Watch on the Rhine' and her thanklessly sidelined character and you can kind of see why she gave such a histrionic OTT portrayal in 'Mr Skeffington' shortly afterwards, as if to compensate. 

But I digress. Back to the role of the female character in 1940s Noir/Suspense Cinema. Before getting into that I'd like to clear up some of the presumptions that the likes of Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett in any way contributed to this pigeonholing of females into femme fatales. Chandler’s inadvertent reputation as a misogynistic writer owes its being partly to the silver screen adaptations of his Philip Marlowe novels. Whereas his novels stressed the importance of deconstructing the stereotypical role of women in detective stories as being either red herrings or love interests, the censors of 1940s Hollywood, for various reasons, failed to translate this to the silver screen. Case in point—the character of Ann Riordan in Farewell My Lovely is a headstrong, self-assured young lady. In a world where “verbal equality translates to social equality” [2], Riordan’s ability to spar verbally with Marlowe makes her a very worthy sidekick to Marlowe; her feminine independence even goes so far as to directly attack the pillars of masculinity by declaring that “sometimes I hate men. Old men, young men, football players, opera tenors, smart millionaires, beautiful men who are gigolos and almost-heels who are—private detectives”. She is attracted to Marlowe but is by no means a passive damsel in distress. In Murder, My Sweet (the 1944 Edward Dmytyk adaptation of Farewell, My Lovely) she is marginalized into a stock love interest who is transformed into a loyal stepdaughter of Lewin Lockridge Grayle.

Howard Hawks’ 1946 adaptation of The Big Sleep starring Humphrey Bogart, cast Bogart’s paramour Lauren Bacall as Vivian Rutledge; the opening silhouettes of Bogart and Bacall that precede the opening credits make it clear that this superstar coupling is the main highlight, generating sexual tension to ramp up the box office sales. Admirable marketing strategy indeed, and the final product is nevertheless a highly interesting film in its own right, but in doing so the more visceral impact “spoiled, exacting, armed and devious” and non-love interest Vivian is diminished. Let me re-iterate; there's nothing wrong at all with Bacall's performance. She does a great deal with the little she has, the problem is that the character, the source material and indeed, Bogart, deserved a lot more than just the usual sultry seducer who ultimately and somewhat out of character, helps our protagonist out of his rut with kisses to spare.

Though sultry and mysterious enough, not quite a fully-formed character: Lauren Bacall in 'The Big Sleep'

One of the most telling themes that recur throughout the two novels is the honourable nature of Marlowe. Seing in a coloured glass window the image of “a knight in dark armour rescuing a lady who was tied to a tree”, he wryly notes the helplessness of the lady (her inability to rescue herself evidenced by her nakedness—“didn’t have any clothes on but some very long convenient hair”); and the knight, who foreshadows the role Marlowe will play with Carmen Sternwood, an unintelligent young lady who 'likes to pull the wings of flies' and cause trouble for herself. Later on, Marlowe has to save an unclothed Carmen who is 'just a dope' and can’t do anything to help herself, while also resisting her sexual advances. Marlowe is as 'hot-blooded' as any other man, he notes, but as a knight to General Sternwood’s figure of 'the old monarch in desperate need of a knight to keep order amongst his ranks' [3].

Masculinity, which acts as a rejection of weakness to feminine allure, is stipulated as a chivalric aspect of Marlowe; but ultimately in a world in which 'knights had no meaning in this game. It wasn’t a game for knights', this is irrelevant; Marlowe’s aspirations of knightly valour is gradually deconstructed by a world overcome by vice. In 'freeing of men and women from the concepts of ‘knightlyness’ and ‘ladyness’, from the inadequate and invalid stereotypes assigned by gender' [4] Chandler forces Marlowe to go against his idealised code and makes him a fish out of water. This results in a more fluid differentiation of roles between the sexes; with Marlowe removed of his knighthood and General Sternwood of his kingship, the female figures Vivian and Carmen have considerably more power alongside, if not yet over, the men than was the norm for the private detective genre.

Unfortunately this is all rather undermined by the film adaptation of The Big Sleep, where most of the intersexual interplay involves either Bogart and Bacall trading thinly veiled innuendos; when it comes down to solving the case, Marlowe wryly tells Bacall to “never mind talking. Let me do it”, emphasising that it is men who do the heavy lifting of the actual plot, with women doing little more than watch and flirt from the sidelines. “Silver Wig”, in the novel, is Eddie Mars’ wife who in the novel who acts as a “platinumed” ray of light into the darkness and morbidity of the third act, helping to rescue Marlowe from his predicament at the risk of her own life and a “kind of nice girl”; in the film she appears briefly to raise histrionics and pour water on Marlowe. While “Silver-Wig” was a resourceful, brave in the novel, and saved Marlowe from the clutches of the vicious Canino, a damsel to the rescue with no obligation whatsoever to Marlowe, the film version of Vivian saves Marlowe out of romantic obligation to the dominant male figure, subordinate to him.

Kathleen Ryan in 'Odd Man Out'

This is where the Transatlantic Head-to-Head as I see it starts to come into play. Though British cinema has not been without its fair share of thankless female roles and performances, there is a distinct sense from much of what I've seen of the time that the Brits did have a couple of instances where they used often limited or stereotyped feminine tropes and turned them into the greater sum of their parts. One prominent example is in Carol Reed's terrific 1947 thriller 'Odd Man Out'. There's James Mason's terrific leading turn as an IRA leader on the run from the authorities and some splendid supporting turns by a particularly unhinged Robert Newton, a heartfelt W.G. Fay and especially the wonderfully eccentric and endearing F.J. McCormick. Yet it is Kathleen Ryan in the at first, seemingly simple role of love interest to Mason's character, who is the beating heart of the film, and not in the usual way. Her Kathleen Sullivan is 'beautiful and sturdy, presents a resolute face to the dark destiny' [5] that awaits her and Mason's Johnny; in a bleak and unrelenting film she manages to both adhere to this general sense of inevitable doom, and yet add a spark of relentless drive to keep Johnny alive and away from the authorities. It's spellbindingly understated work and testament really to Reed's excellent direction that out of all the follies and selfishness rampant around the town, it's McCormick's opportunistic swindler and Ryan's lovelorn lady who ultimately represent the most selfless aspects of humanity. Strong female roles like these acquainted themselves wonderfully with leading ladies Deborah Kerr, Margaret Lockwood, and sisters Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine, and character actresses like Hermione Baddeley, and when the likes of Kerr transplanted to the States in the 1950s, helped to usher in a series of non-subordinate, fully characterised female characters.

From her breakout in the early 40's onwards, Kerr's talents and incredible screen presence rarely
let her down, playing both light comic and dramatic roles with equal aplomb.

Olivia de Havilland continued putting out strong work throughout the
1940's, the pinnacle being 1949's 'The Heiress'.

An additional example that's equally interesting would be Hitchcock's transplantation to America in the mid-1940s. With 'Shadow of a Doubt' he did the unthinkable: a British director not only succesfully capturing the aura of 1940s suburbia, but at the same time refusing to allow the (in many cases) less interesting 'innocent' figure of the daughter figure to go to waste, as it so often did. Teresa Wright's performance in 'Shadow of a Doubt' is so spellbinding because it takes a well-worn character of the and deconstructs it down to terrifying, viscreal effect. Marvellous work. 

And soon America began taking note, too, from its own auteurs like Billy Wilder and John Huston, who coaxed out from the likes of Barbara Stanwyck and Mary Astor wonderfully complex depictions of the femme fatale. See? I have nothing against--in fact I love--the trope of the femme fatale so long as it creates a properly independent character in its own right, and not merely an intermediary between clues, or a simple red herring of a love interest. And in 1944's 'Laura' this deconstruction of the shallow nature of of some of the 1940s Female Leads in noir/suspense genres was put to another level by having the whole plot centre around various men's obsessions over the titular Laura (played well by Gene Tierney) and , before revealing her for what she is: human. A fact which many filmmakers unfortunately neglected in the grand scheme of having females as narrative fodder, but which some fortunately acknowledged, and in turn crafting our not mere proverbial parring partners, but sparring, autonomous and independent characters in their own right.

---

[1] Johanna M. Smith, “Hard-Boiled Detective Fiction: Gendering the Canon”. Penn State University Press, Pacific Coast Philology, Vol. 26, No. ½ (Jul., 1991), p. 79

[2] John Paul Athanasourelis, “Film Adaptation and the Censors: 1940s Hollywood and Raymond Chandler”, University of North Texas, Studies in the Novel, Vol. 35, No. 3, THE LEGACY OF RAYMOND CHANDLER: NEITHER TARNISHED NOR AFRAID (fall 2003), p. 329

[3] Balazs Biro, Raymond Chandler: Breaking the Norms of the Detective Genre, http://www.ia.hiof.no/~borres/krim/pdffiler/Biro.pdf

[4] Sharon Devaney-Lovinguth: Modernism and Gender in the Novels of Raymond Chandler, p. 8

[5] Kevin Hagopian, Penn State University: http://www.albany.edu/writers-inst/webpages4/filmnotes/fns99n8.html

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