Head-to-Head: The Great Gatsby, Part 2 (Daisy and Tom)

Mia Farrow and Carey Mulligan played Daisy Buchanan in the 1974 and 2013 versions of 'The Great Gatsby', respectively.

Two of my all-time favourite actresses in one of the most intriguing characters to adapt on-screen. 'Intriguing' because Daisy Buchanan is one of the most divisive characters in all of literary history, soliciting in equal degrees sympathy and disgust from readers and critics with regards to her characterisation, and her actions as a character. I for one feel there's no 'right' way so to speak, to play Daisy, as F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel is so structured through both Nick Carraway's subjective POV, and Carraway's POV of Gatsby's POV, and even Jordan Baker's own POV, that it all becomes a multiplicity of viewpoints that makes up the character of Daisy. She is effectively distanced from the reader, as mysterious as the green light which represents Gatsby's love for her, which gives the actress playing her freedom to interpret the character in different ways. That's all a bit vague, I know, but does attest to the fact that Daisy is a pretty hard character to get a grasp on, a challenege for both actress and audience.

So how do Farrow and Mulligan fare? Well as aforementioned I am a huge fan of both, and have difficulty in ranking the two of them amongst my favourite actresses because they're so neck for neck in much of their filmography, but I have to say here that Mulligan really blows Farrow out of the water here. Like Redford, there's just something inherently off, not the wrong approach so to speak, but she just feels a bit awkward in my opinion in her whole character creation of Daisy. It's a shame since she otherwise seems to fit the role of Daisy perfectly, Daisy should be a brunette yes but her blonde locks and wide dreamy eyes do seem to fit the role, and her silent portion of the performance, in the initial scenes, is just fine as she does nail the whole fun-loving, floppily languid physical aspect of Daisy.

Where the problem lies is when she opens her mouth to speak. Farrow's high-pitched, oddly mannered speaking voice here I think was intended to emphasise the constantly turbulent, unpredictable nature of Daisy, but I feel it just came across as being a bit annoying. It's not all that different to the voice she used in Woody Allen's 'Broadway Danny Rose', but whereas there she properly fitted it into the whole screwball comedic tone of the film, here it just comes across as a bit jarring for both the way the character is written, and the overall tone of the film. There's never a moment in these initial scenes where she doesn't seem to be ACTING Daisy out, her whole mannered manner as Daisy just seems unnatural, very odd dor an actress for whom this is her normal strength.

As for Mulligan, what more can I say than just throw the lady more complex novel characters to play. Though not nearly on the level of her amazing, amazing, amazing (all tricolons of amazing necessary), performance as Bathsheba Everdeen in 'Far From the Madding Crowd', she's still rather good here, albeit a bit limited by the film, as Daisy. The whole sassy, teasing manner of the character is much more downplayed, and all the more effective here than Farrow's approach as Mulligan just feels more natural in emphasising all of Daisy's little tics. One thing I do quite like about Mulligan is the unique approach she has of 'disappearing' into characters. She's not the chameleonic sort, nor should she be, instead she implements her very interesting set of techniques as an actress - her natural air of defiance, the way her lips curl in those unique ways, her uniquely expressive eyes - to make Daisy into her own creation, unlike Farrow who perhaps tries a bit too hard to CREATE Daisy through mannerisms. Farrow does, like Redford, improve a bit as the film goes on, she doesn't really change her whole manner per say, but rather tones it all down a bit. Technically speaking hardly the most consistent of performances, but it does give her a few better moments like the romantic scenes with Redford after the first bland reunion. Mulligan is also quite good in the equivalent scenes, she does get sidelined a bit by the louder, more overt performances of DiCaprio, Edgerton and even Maguire, but she does her deer-eyed routine well enough and whenever the camera focuses on her, she makes the most of it. The scene which she excels the most, her reunion scene with Gatsby. 'Far From the Madding Crowd' might have taken a directorial touch or two from Luhrmann here in lingering upon Mulligan's face Celia Johnson style as it really works wonders, as in a few silent moments Mulligan can so efficiently and magically convey the complexities of Daisy as a character.

Mulligan: 4/5
Farrow: 2/5

Bruce Dern and Joel Edgerton played Tom Buchanan in the 1974 and 2013 versions of 'The Great Gatsby', respectively.

Dern's performance as Tom Buchanan I have to say is one that has kind of grown on me as time goes by. When I first watched the film his whole bombastic, All-American approach really got on my nerves after a while, and I always got the vibe he was just doing a whole 'tough guy' act not very effectively. Well after re-watch I have to admit, while not the most appealing approach, Dern does pretty much nail what the character should be. A loud, snobbish and hypocritical jock who acts a lot tougher than he actually is. Fairly simplistic on the whole, but he does it well, and was perhaps right to go about the role in this relatively one-note manner. Dern as always adds that little bit of extra manic intensity to his roles just through his casting, and it's no different here as he's particularly intimidating in the scenes where he's berating and manipulating Scott Wilson's George Wilson.

Edgerton on the other hand, instead of playing it safe like Dern, goes out on a bit of a limb with Tom. In that he takes an incredibly stylized approach to the character, kind of like a 1920's gangster but with an added touch of East Egg prissy refinement to his manner. Well it's certainly entertaining to watch the usually reserved Edgerton play this snarling oaf of a man with supposed 'class', and while in most adaptations of 'Gatsby' he might have stuck out like a sore thumb, here it really does work quite well in tandem with the overall excesses and OTT-ness of the film. It might not be as accurate to the novel's conception of Tom as Dern's performance is, but he works just about as well for the film. I will say though, that what Edgerton kind of lacks that Dern had was that aforementioned manic intensity. Everything he does stays within that stylized gangster approach, and he always seems perhaps a bit too in touch with his senses than Tom should be. Quite an entertaining performance though, and a good example of a stylized take on a character that works well with the film.

Edgerton: 3.5/5
Dern: 3.5/5

Head-to-Head: The Great Gatsby, Part 1 (Nick Carraway, and Jay Gatsby)

I should probably note that I have also seen the 2000 television adaptation of 'The Great Gatsby', but the less said about that the better. I really am not in the mood to re-visit and re-watch it at all, so I'll just say that Mira Sorvino and Paul Rudd, two actors I usually really like, give pretty poor interpretations of Daisy and Nick, Toby Stephens is not offensively bad but very bland (compared to his excellent work in 'Jane Eyre' it's astounding how large a rift there is between these two portrayal of enigmatic wealthy men), and the rest of the cast is very forgettable. Instead I will focus on the 1974 Jack Clayton adaptation, and the 2013 Baz Luhrmann adaptation.

The 1974 adaptation of 'Gatsby' is probably one of the most standard film adaptations I've ever seen. It's never offensively bad, and I will admit I did take quite a liking to the overall set and designs, and particularly the costumes which evoked that very particular period of the Roaring Twenties quite well. I will say though that what lies beneath the pretty surface is a lot more lifeless than appearances suggest. There are certain scenes that have a bit of charm to it, and some performances that are effective, but it's mostly pretty by-the-books, and Clayton really doesn't seem to have much innovation with his workman-like directorial style, displaying nothing of the brilliant sense of pacing and tension that he brought to my all-time favourite horror film, 'The Innocents'. It plays everything pretty safe to the point that one really can't find any sort of adaptation value in some of the more exposition-heavy scenes. I did not hate watching it, but there are parts which really drag throughout, and the script (which apparently went through many revisions) kind of messes up several key moments I'll get into soon. The 2013 Baz Luhrmann adaptation is most certainly my preferred of the two. I'd even go so far as to say that in some ways I loved it, although again I am a bit of a Luhrmann apologist, his particularly frentic, MV-esque style of direction having always appealed to me on a purely aesthetic level, and it does work magically in certain moments here to perfectly represent of the excessive hedonistic pleasures of the Twenties. My passion for it has dwindled a bit on re-watches, though, as on reflection there are certain bits where Luhrmann could've toned his shtick down a bit, also there are a few iffy moments here and there with how the original source material is dealt with.

But enough of that. What about the performances themselves?

Robert Redford and Leonardo DiCaprio played Jay Gatsby in the 1974 and 2013 versions of 'The Great Gatsby', respectively.

Robert Redford (top) and Leonardo DiCaprio (bottom)

I am a massive fan of Robert Redford; I've been tempted for oh so long to give him my 1976 win in Lead for his brilliant turn in 'All the President's Men', and when you needed a go-to leading man with looks and talent to spare in the 1970's, you couldn't go wrong with Redford so long as the director of the film and script were decent enough. On paper Redford sounds like just about the perfect choice to play Jay Gatsby. Good-looking, with an almost intangible charm to him, star power...and unfortunately, I have to say the film as a whole kind of mucks this all up from his very first scene. I have no idea what the scriptwriters and Clayton were thinking, drawing out Gatsby's entrance like he's Don Corleone or something, and unfortunately I have to say this is definitely a case where directorial and script missteps set the performance off on the wrong tone from the very start. It's a complete deviation from the very casual meeting scene of the book. I also do have to criticize Redford a bit here as he plays this first scene, and indeed much of his performance, in this very stilted, wooden fashion that really nullifies most of his strengths as an actor, as does Clayton's direction; whereas Luhrman, far more aware of the star quality of his leading man than Clayton seems to, does things differently and far more effectively for DiCaprio that in turn works out much better. Luhrman's excessive camerawork and flamboyant CGI aside, Nick's first meeting with Gatsby, and out first meeting with him, is actually much more in tune with the book as he emerges from the crowd as 'a man about my age' before astounding Nick with 'You see old sport...I'm Gatsby'. DiCaprio is absolutely pitch-perfect in this moment as he revels in all his star-power and charisma with that look, absolutely earning the whole mythic status of Gatsby as somehow being above it all, and yet with characteristic 21st-Century DiCaprio-isms, grounding him too as just another guy as well, who's kind of playing a role, but a role he's so gotten used to that it's almost become him.

It's a fantastic scene and I won't lie in that the initial scenes of setting up the whole grandeur and allure of Gatsby are DiCaprio's high points in his performance. He certainly does not just use his intrinsic charm and presence do all the work as there's some very interesting character work done in between the lines too, moments in which we get faint glimpses behind the enigma. Whether it be little hints at a darker, more criminal edge to his business proceedings, or that underlying passion for the 'green light' he conveys in an almost childish sort of manner, it's incredibly fascinating to watch how the usually very intense DiCaprio (the intense persona being one I usually feel is a bit hit-and-miss) almost does a Jimmy Stewart, 'aw shucks' sort of routine with how likably affable and welcoming he is, but also with an intensity of different sorts, that comes from his star persona. It's funny to note how he played Jay Gatsby and Jordan Belfort in 'The Wolf of Wall Street' in the same year as technically speaking he's playing wealthy, powerful men in both films, the fascinating differentiation being that whereas Belfort's charm is almost entirely sleazy and yet entirely natural, and effortlessly attractive to the prospective buyer, Gatsby's feels a lot more earnest, but paradoxically with a tinge of artifice and off-putting excessiveness to it all. One could argue that DiCaprio overplays the whole Gatsby-ishness of Gatsby a bit here, but I for one think it works wonderfully. In the same way that Belfort's extremely uncouth and unrestrained sinfulness of his wealthy ways was so darn hilarious in WOWS, Gatsby's extremes are played to perfection by DiCaprio, and broken down beautifully in the scene where he comes face to face with his long-lost love, Daisy. In this scene the whole breakdown of Gatsby from his usual excessive confidence, into an incredibly lacking presence, an absence of his usual manners, descending into a man who's so strung along by his passions that it is both sad and, in a way, quite funny.

In 'All the President's Men', 'Three Days of Concord', and 'All is Lost' Redford would always play even his average joes with just the right amount of charm in order to get the audience on his side, before then setting about making interesting variations on this type. Here it seems like he's almost too impatient, or maybe the director was too impatient, for Redford to start ACTING, as opposed to settling into, the role. The stiffness I suppose does work for showing just how 'noveau riche' and pretentious Gatsby is with his 'old sports' and everything, but on the other hand it just makes it a bit unbelievable why Nick would be so allured by him apart from the fact that he has money (Nick is a shameless golddigger whose conception of Gatsby's godlike qualities are but dollar-bill facades covering his eyes: discuss!). His 'smile with the quality of eternal reassurance' is more awkward than anything, unlike DiCaprio's which just effortlessly oozes confidence. However as the film comes along his performance improves. Though his reunion scene with Daisy is quite iffy (although a lot of blame in that scene lies at someone else's feet, who I'll get to in my next post), after that point Redford is just fine at doing his usual leading man stuff as the romantic lead, with less charm than usual I may add, but still enough to make him enjoyable enough to watch. DiCaprio on the other hand, turns in a slightly less interesting performance after his reunion with Daisy, as the film and he start to rid Gatsby of that star persona, and more in line with the usual DiCaprio line of dramatic performances which involves a whole lot of angst and yelling and screaming and EMOTING. Not that he's bad at any of that, in fact he's quite moving in the scene where he expresses to Nick after a party how much Daisy means to him, and appropriately intense when confronting Tom Buchanan (I am a huge advocate of DiCaprio appearing in a proper horror film sometime, a la his predecessor Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', because when he wants to he can make some genuinely terrifying faces), and Gatsby flipping out has the proper sort of viscreal quality, but it just feels a lot less interesting than the enigma of before.

Perhaps that's the intention of Luhrman's direction, to break down our preconceptions of DiCaprio's star wattage and making him, and disappointing us, into a revelation of a man who merely 'turned out all right at the end', an insignificant man in contrast to his environment which swallowed him whole. Redford I will say hits his performance's high heights (though never nearly as high as DiCaprio's) once Gatsby reflects on the fallout of the tragedy, and actually reminded me a lot of his best scenes in 'Three Days of Concord' by his genuinely heartfelt, saddening reactions to the misery he has inadvertently caused, and fear over his predicament. There's a paranoid Howard Hughes edge (on a separate note I think it's a darn shame Redford never got to play Hughes as he would have been far more fitting for a 1970's biopic than DiCaprio was in 'The Aviator) he gives Gatsby in these final scenes with his silent looks, which makes me kind of wish they'd just thrown away the book at this point and let Gatsby live onto a sequel. Heck they'd muddled it up enough by that point, so why not find a way for Redford to develop these final scenes into something more fascinating than what the 1974 version limited him into? Anyway I do think DiCaprio, despite his lesser second half (more to do with the material he's given than him), does give a far better performance than Redford as Gatsby. Although I have to say I do like Redford more than DiCaprio as an actor (who is someone I find that I either really love or just can't really get into, depending on the type of performance he's giving, i.e. I loved his work in Gilbert Grape, I'm not a big fan of The Departed or The Aviator), and I think had he been given better material and direction to work with, could've turned this final result of mine around quite significantly.

DiCaprio: 4.5/5
Redford: 3/5

Sam Waterston and Tobey Maguire played Nick Carraway in the 1974 and 2013 versions of 'The Great Gatsby', respectively.

Sam Waterston (top) and Tobey Maguire (bottom)

In the same vein that I am a Baz Luhrmann apologist, I will fully admit to being much more of a fan of Mr Maguire than most people seem to be. While I agree that overall he is a fairly limited in terms of his acting range, there is no one better at doing his particular brand of awkward, endearing charm, and when he gets a chance to stretch himself it does, if nothing else, provide an interesting performance. I really like him in the likes of 'The Ice Storm', 'Seabiscuit', 'The Cider House Rules', and of course, as Peter Parker (he's my favourite incarnation of the character, although good luck to Mr Hollander, and Garfield was never bad). Anyway I digress. How is he as Nick Carraway?

In short: it's a problematic performance, but with more good things about it than bad. I say problematic because one of the main problems Maguire encounters, and which Waterston quite easily dodges, is the tone he strikes with his voiceover narration. I've said again and again that 'The Great Gatsby' really is Nick Carraway's story, and a lot of that falls on how his narrative voice constructs this platonic conception of Jay Gatsby, Daisy and all the rotten lot. Maguire's narration is not bad at all, and I feel bad for saying this, but it just resembles his voiceover narration in 'Spider-Man' too much. And hey, I guess I shouldn't complain too much seeing as how much I enjoyed his Peter Parker, and how easily it draws you into the film, but it also doesn't really fit in with his 'present-day' portrayal of Nick. He doesn't really add any of the cynicism and world-weariness he shows in Nick when in the 'present-day' scenes which is a shame, because he's actually quite good in those, where he depicts Nick's alcoholism as being a by-product of his 'unaffected scorn' for all. It's pretty visceral work from Maguire and it's a shame he doesn't really build on it with his narration, because even though it works just fine for the film it could've been a lot better. Waterston, on the other hand, does the narration just fine. From what little I've seen of Waterston he was an actor who specialised in playing the reactive straight man to more emotional characters and events, and his narration and performance certainly falls in line here. His voiceover feels very much of its time, as I would say his whole voice and accent is far more attuned to the whole post-war America feel of the film than Maguire's is to his, but also with a slight cynical edge which I quite liked.

Outside of narration, one thing to note is that despite being the main character, Nick Carraway never really has an obvious moment to 'shine', in the cinematic sense. Since so much of Nick's characterization in the book comes from his narration, this leaves a lot to the Waterston and Maguire to find character through little reactive moments to other characters. Waterston again I think betters Maguire in the initial scenes as he is just that little bit more believable as a man of his time, and also crafts Nick into a very unassuming sort who internalizes a lot of his feelings towards the more extroverted characters. Maguire on the other hand overdoes the whole idealistic, fresh-faced routine a tad bit, but once he comes face to face with DiCaprio's Gatsby his performance immediately becomes a lot more naturalistic. He and DiCaprio have some fantastic chemistry, which I have no doubt had a lot to do with the actor's long-time friendship, and their scenes together are some of the best scenes of the film, where he really adds a lot to both the film and DiCaprio's performance by his facial reactions, gradually finding his way into the disillusionment and yet unwavering love, he has for Gatsby. Waterston I think has a bit less spark in the equivalent scenes in his performance, a lot of this owing to the fact that the camera seems to almost ignore him whenever the bigger stars of Redford, Mia Farrow and Bruce Dern are onscreen. Credit to him, though, for still maintaining that consistently endearing naiveté to the character, and is properly moving in the final scenes of the film where he expresses the fallout of this American Dream shattered by his reactive performance. When he's alone with Redford in the latter's final scenes, I actually quite love his performance as he expresses such an innocent warmth and love for Gatsby and yet also a more mature edge of anger to his berating of Gatsby's childish clinging onto Daisy. He does not get to showboat like Maguire does in some of the latter confrontation scenes (which I should note he does do very well), but for the time being I think I will give the edge to Waterston's more consistent performance, although Maguire hits the higher highs.

Waterston: 4
Maguire: 3.5

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Why Tom Hardy is a Modern-Day Combination of Mifune and Oldman

So today, we wish a happy 38th birthday to Tom Hardy, perhaps one of the most popular and in this case, very much deservedly so, actors in the world. Many years of stellar screen work and 5 of true stardom have brought much exposure and attention to this very unique brand of movie star: not your conventional leading man, with elements of a character actor thrown into a mix of incredible screen presence, and ever higher stakes of risks he takes role by role, constantly re-inventing himself while always retaining that essence of Hardiness to him. But what's it all about?

Constant media scrutiny still can't quite pinpoint what exactly it is that makes Tom tick. He is a consistently amiable presence in interviews, and not exactly private about his life offscreen (as his game approach to his recent Myspace finds have shown). He doesn't immediately scream 'enigmatic', considering many of his roles are of the rather loud, bombastic sort, and yet it's always never quite clear how he makes it all come together. Those weird accents and voices he employs, those mannered gestures, the physical transformations, the constant intensity he parlays into so many different ways...technically speaking each role he takes is a potential failure due to how many different oddities he throws into each performance. Who is Tom Hardy? One can't really discern just by studying his technique alone, as that in itself is already as scattershot as they come; it'd take, I decided, a head-to-head comparison with some other actors in order to discern what makes Tom Hardy, Tom Hardy, from his filmography, as eclectic as they come.

I was mooting awhile about this point for a while. Marlon Brando? While the two do share some similar trademark intensities with Method acting approach, and there are certain scenes in Hardy's excellent work in 'The Drop' that marvellously echo Brando in 'On the Waterfront'. Hardy's Bob is a quiet, none too bright bartender who does evoke Terry Malloy's lonely soul and gentleness, with an undercurrent of intensity. It's a marvellous performance, but I do feel the comparisons stop there as apart from this performance, I feel like their career paths have yet to overlap in the same way as the two actors I'm about to mention.

The screen presence and intensities of a leading-man Mifune...

Watching Akira Kurosawa's fantastic 'High and Low' last night was what brought to light this particular head-to-head comparison for me. The film centers around a shoe factory tycoon, played by Mifune, who has to make a decision between sending extortion money to save his driver's infant son (who was mistaken for his own), and in consequence causing financial ruin for himself; or refusing to pay the money and leaving the boy to the untender mercies of the unhinged kidnapper (a marvellous Tsutomu Yamazaki). I'll get more into the film in another full blog post (yes it's that good, possibly my favourite Kurosawa although I do love Yojimbo, and Ikiru a great deal), but anyway, one thing I was very taken aback by whilst watching Mifune hit the various character beats of anger, frustration, sadness and sympathy was how uncannily I was reminded (or vice versa) of Hardy's performance in 'Locke' last year. In that film, Hardy's Ivan Locke too is at a crossroads in life, the difference being that he's already on his way along one of them. Locke's life-changing decision is to abandon his work and loving family, both of which he prizes and deeply cares for, in order to be at the birth of his child, conceived from a one-night stand with a co-worker. The film is essentially a one-man show, filming Hardy from the chest up for the entirety of the film, and he makes the most of it, giving a searing portrayal of a man conflicted not only by the decision hanging over his head, but by his own personal demons, as well as the personal conviction with particular values that spring from these demons.

What I find fascinating about both films and performances is that they're both technically very directorial-heavy films, and yet neither Mifune nor Hardy ever let themselves be overshadowed by it. The first half of 'High and Low' is an incredible showcase for Mifune, but what I love most about it is that while he gets plenty of opportunity to convey the inner turmoil, and the volatile exterior of his outbursts, he never gets greedy, never tries to take over a scene by himself.  Mifune's approach here is not to downplay his usual style, instead it's to make use of it in an altogether different manner. Whereas in some films it was employed for showboating and scene-stealing (and if I may add, entirely justified in doing so), here it's more to add to Kurosawa's overall direction, to which Mifune mends his portrayal accordingly as he matches the intensity and tenderness of Gondo in with the characters he's interacting with, and where he stands on his decision. He never feels the need to actively dominate the scene as he knows his screen presence alone does the job already; a sentiment I feel perfectly sums up Hardy's approach in 'Locke', too. He resists the urge to try and ACT every scene, and make Locke's situation perhaps over-reverberate with too much melodrama and anguish. Instead makes allowances for smaller moments where he silently receives a verbal beatdown for his boss, his gentler interactions with his children, his regrets over the affair, and that incredible moment at the end where he just sits--no mannerisms, no gesticulations, just sitting and stillness, and it just takes your breath away.

Much in the same way Mifune's brilliant performance, understated as it is, lingers on even in the second half of 'High and Low' where his character is somewhat sidelined (I was surprised by how little screentime overall he had) for the police procedural section of the film,which is brilliant too I may add and carried wonderfully by some Kurosawa regulars, having given Gondo an almost godly sense of being by just how transcendently Mifune carried the character with his screen presence, Hardy's performance in 'Locke' manages to make an average man in an average car, in a situation that could happen to anyone, into a near-transcendent being. It's not just a domineering onscreen presence that propelled Mifune, and propels Hardy, above their contemporaries. It's the way they so effortlessly harness it into not being a facet of their acting, but seemingly a facet of their characters' being. It extends to their silent men of few words (Hardy's 'Mad Max', a mumbling, mannered, quirky yet unquestionably badass Man With Little to Say, but Much Ass to Kick, and Mifune's Man With No Name in 'Yojimbo', a quiet hound-like beast of a man with a hidden penchant for mischief and justice), and their louder performances (Mifune's strikingly intense Kikuchiyo in 'Seven Samurai', or as the thief in 'Rashoman', compared with Hardy in the likes of 'Bronson' where he is completely unhinged, deranged, and boy is he fun to watch).

...and the chameleonic tendencies of Gary Oldman.

Even without the photographic evidence above, I'm sure there's some sort of weekly covenant between these two buddies, where they discuss how to one-up the other with their next body-building, vocal-morphing exercise (with perhaps Viggo Mortensen and Christian Bale as semi-regular attendees, and Daniel Day-Lewis as the fellow dozing off in the back only to ever so often burst into 'I DRIIIIINK YOOOOUURR MILKSHAKE'). Anyway, these two have actually worked together twice, in 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' and 'Child 44', and what's interesting to note about these two films is that, regardless of their contrasting quality (in short: 'Tinker Tailor' is a very effective spy thriller, 'Child 44' is a very lacklustre one), the two have a similar dynamic of mentor-to-protégée in both, Oldman being the quieter guiding force as both George Smiley and General Nesterov, Hardy the more explosive younger man (Ricki Tarr and Leo Deminov). I mention this because despite the relationship between the two actors' characters in the two films being similar in more ways than one, they manage to create an entirely different sort of tone for both films by their chameleonic abilities. In 'Tinker Tailor Solider Spy' Oldman makes Smiley a soft-spoken yet incredibly incisive and dominating figure of cool intellect, while Hardy portrays a soft sentimental streak of romantic weakness down Tarr's bad-boy act to make it believable that he'd be under Smiley's command. In 'Child 44', Hardy, perhaps knowing how bad the film was going to be, milks his Russian accent for all its worth and makes his Deminov into a slowly seething, raging boiling pot of anger waiting to burst into retribution, while Oldman, in a supporting role, entirely disappears into the (admittedly) paper-thin role he has, and makes his mentor more supportive than domineering.

I hate to start off by mentioning these two films as they're hardly the pinnacle of either's career, insofar as their chameleonic capabilities are concerned. Both actors possess the incredible talent to transcend the very boundaries of acting by how brilliantly they disappear into their characters. Take, for example, Gary Oldman as a black pimp in 'True Romance':

A Hell's Kitchen loose cannon in 'State of Grace':

The loosest of all loose cannons in 'Leon':

James Gordon:

And in addition Dracula, his Shakespearean-cum-Stoppard turn in 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead', Sirius Black, countless villains...I mean, Man of a Thousand Faces doesn't quite suffice to describ2e Mr Oldman's ability to morph into so many different guises. And Hardy's well on his way to becoming the next Chameleonic Oldman-esque thespian, if his current output's anything to go by. His very physical style of performance is just so reminiscent of a 1990's Oldman in it's own unique way, it's absolutely exhilarating.

Face almost completely obscured from view as Bane in 'The Dark Knight Rises': like Oldman in 'Hannibal' he lets the voice do most of the work, to incredible effect,

Need I say more about Bronson?

And of course the upcoming 'Legend' where he's going to play for two as the Kray twins. I can't wait to see it.

The fact that Hardy called Oldman 'hands down the greatest actor who ever lived' is not only an incredibly awesome show of respect from one great actor to another, but also a binding thread between two chameleons who are well on their way to becoming legends--or in Hardy's case, a Legend.

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From King Lear to Keats' Dear: Been There, Donne That

The metaphysics of enclosure, one ‘little world of man’ to the next.

The creation of a ‘world formed by art’, as Herbert Marcuse puts it, requires that it ‘emancipates itself from the given universe of discourse’ while still ‘preserving (the) overwhelming presence’ of ‘given reality’. The ‘given reality’ is necessary for what Keats would term the ‘vale of soul-making’, where suffering and pain is necessary for the facilitation of an individual into a higher plateau of existence. For the likes of Shakespeare, Keats, and Donne, this higher plateau of existence would be the recurring theme of the ‘little world of man’ that Shakespeare makes reference to in King Lear; to enclose oneself away entirely from the rest of the world. Keats’ Romantic poetry conveys an enclosed universe similar to that which Shakespeare conveys in King Lear, while Donne’s Metaphysical poetry helps to ‘facilitate’ this comparison. There preoccupations with the ‘little worlds’ of their discourses are almost paradoxically wide-ranging, yet also tread and re-tread along many similar paths, so as to almost form, between their three distinct worlds, one cumulative universe.

Donne’s ‘The Good-Morrow’ centres on a lover’s waking thoughts as he awakes next to his partner, transitioning gradually from the ‘first world of flesh to that of mind and thence to a world of spirit’ (Arnold Stein). Commonly seen as an ‘egocentric sensualist who ignored the feelings of the woman’ (Kenneth Muir), this poem displays a remarkable sensitivity that seems to go against yet in a paradoxical way, support this interpretation. Donne seems to care for the figure of his womanly lover and makes sure that the ‘little roome’ of the lover and his partner is ‘everywhere’ not in its universality, but rather its intimacy, esoteric to the extent that only the two of them can enter this room; yet at the same time, seems to internalise this as a discourse not between himself and his partner, but rather self to self. C.S. Lewis saw Donne’s poetry as having an ‘intellectual and fully conscious complexity that we soon come to the end of’ (C.S. Lewis); perhaps what he is referring to here is Donne’s esoteric restraint. His unconventional sonnet follows in vein of Wordsworth’s description of the ‘sonnet’s narrow room’. There is much intensity of intellect, yet it is also evidence self-restraint through implication; he doesn’t give the whole game away, so to speak, but rather shows ‘skill to convey something without full liberty’ (Graham Greene). This self-awareness of self-enclosure Greene speaks of is also an evident recurring theme throughout Shakespeare’s works; it is perhaps, most explicitly depicted in Henry V, where the figure of the Chorus establishes the world of Henry V as being an ‘unworthy scaffold’, an inadequate shrine to more glorious days and yet, still distinct and necessitating invitation for the audience to enter; or The Winter's Tale, where midway through the play, Time as one which pleases 'some' (a certain number) but affects/tries 'all', controls the universe of 'The Winter's Tale' by swiftly sliding over sixteen years, instilling into the play's second half a greater sense of mystique and magic by this addition of a fantastical element of time-skipping to the proceedings. Like in King Lear we feel more and more immersed in Shakespeare's world with every omniscient move by God, Choruses and Time, as it puts the characters down to scale, more along our own levels.

This concept of a ‘small world’ within which the actions of the play take place is particularly prevalent amongst those centring on monarchs. The excellent Shakespearean actor Ian Richardson once discussed the ‘expert stage-management of those about the Sovereign’, referring in particular to Richard II’s ‘parade of magnificence and the demonstration of power’; Richard II is perennially putting on an ‘act’ as a Christ figure, something which Lear does to in attempting to assert himself as a ‘man/ more sinned against than sinning’. The opening scene of King Lear involves the very ‘stage-management’ Richardson spoke of, but it is most decidedly not ‘expert’. He essentially lets Goneril and Regan win him over with their foppery of language; he has no control over the stage despite his exalted view of his own prerogative, for in a ‘tribe of fops’ he is the lead, a poor fool indeed to the manipulations of other through ‘that glib and oily art’ of manipulative speech. When Lear cries, ‘come not between a dragon and his wrath’ it is not nearly as expert a display of showmanship as say, Richard duelling the ‘man of few words’ (Richardson) Bollingbroke with his careful immersion of self into the ‘role of a holy martyr’ who ‘must what force will have us do’, or Henry V rousing his troops into battle with his St Crispin’s Day speech. The court is an enclosed world, but Lear fails to assert himself over it due to his failure to ‘see better’ past the ‘lendings’ of deceptive language.

The problem with Lear’s handling of his ‘small world of man’ at the outset, is that he clings onto his past and past powers, to ‘needs superflous’; he is at first unwilling to set aside these ‘lendings’ of his kingship, and the fickle matters of the court, and find his way into a new world of privacy and intimacy with Cordelia, whom he has banished from his court. Keats’ description of King Lear as being a ‘fierce dispute betwixt damnation and impassioned clay’ is rather fitting here, as Lear’s ‘impassioned’ existence as ‘clay’ (stoic and fixed) has limited him from the potential he can assert in ‘damnation’ and death. Clearly, Keats was a great believer in allowing oneself to be thrown into the unknown in favour of the known, to be banished from dull certainties into a world of one’s own, where contingencies of existence are irrelevant and the metaphysics thrive. In his ‘Ode to Psyche’ expressly mentions ‘a fane in some untrodden region of my mind’ as being the ideal situation for his ‘wander’d in a forest thoughtlessly’; he shows but doesn’t tell, of this little world within him where he explores. It is a recurring theme of Keats’ that he maintains restraint in describing his glimpses of the metaphysical (‘I have a mysterious tale, and I cannot speak it…to indistinct in the core of an eternal fierce destruction’ , he once wrote in an epistle to J.H. Reynolds), on one hand for fear of language being inadequate to express his visions (his ‘sandals more interwoven and complete to fit the naked foot of Poesy’, as he describes in ‘if by full rhymes our English must be chain’d’, are seen to ‘bound’ and nullify the impact of ‘the muse’, much in the same way Lear gradually begins to see language as not ‘valued, rich or rare’ like Goneril describes it, but actually means nothing); but also for want of privacy in his little world.

When he then proceeds to declare, ‘let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one of man to out-scorn’, Donne displays a similar desire for privacy and closeness with his partner, each having ‘one’ world to themselves, and finally to ‘out-scorn’ and alienate any outsiders, that Lear shows when he hopes they can like birds ‘i’the cage’, live together for all eternity. The difference, however, being that Lear had to be ‘pushed out beyond the boundaries of life…the reality of emptiness’ (Grigori Kozinstev), propelled into a void of nothingness before he could find this new unseen reality beyond the borders, whereas Donne’s ‘undeterminable desire of more, than this life can minister unto him’. His ‘t’was so’ at the beginning of ‘The Good Morrow’ is as Arnold Stein puts it, a dismissal, redefinition of reality in a ‘new, exclusive’ form; out of the force of imagination, comes a transformation of self from carnal neuroses to spiritual peace, and a transition from a world of flesh into a world of metaphysical purpose and passion. Yet within this little world remains reservations: as he remarks at one point in his 'Devotions upon Emergent Occassions', and extended discourse on morality and salvation, he wonders whether 'if man had been left alone in this world at first, shall I think that he would not have fallen?', making reference to the concept of original sin. Intimacy is equally susceptible to evil as it is to good, and with regards to the 'little worlds' of man, 'no man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main', and if we do not involve outselves in interchange of sympathies and 'misery' with others, this self-imposed exclusion may well prove to be a turn for the worse.

Keats’ admiration of the paths taken into the unknown by both these figure is palatable by his praise of the ‘golden-tongued Romance’, making it clear that he in a sense, has modelled himself after him; seeing him as a ‘begetter of our deep eternal theme’ means he holds a belief that the Bard holds influence beyond just historical reality, but extends beyond it into the world of metaphysics. Like Donne, who was ‘so conscious of himself that we are aware of him…in a manner and to a degree hardly to be paralleled in our reading of our lyric poetry’ (Sir Herbert Grierson), Keats has a supreme awareness of self which works nicely along Donne in facilitating the ‘little world of man’ in King Lear; in Keats’ Odes, in particular, we find a very esoteric, self-aware (and verging on self-absorption) narrative voice which escape from reality, reject the order of the present and implement sacraments of what is past (‘draught of vintage…cool’d a long age’ in ‘Ode to a Nightingale’) and prophetically, what is to come (previsions of the otherworld where ‘shade to shade will come to drowsily’). Tempering this, however, is the more cynical edge to the likes of 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci', were the intimacy of the 'elfin grot' is soon revealed to be nothing more than an illusion, the 'cold hill side' being the harsh reality of desolation.

Retroactive Castings: Interstellar in the 1970s, Rocky in the 2010s

Ever thought, whilst watching a film, how it might've been made under completely different circumstances? Completely different eras, perhaps? I've always been fond of 'retroactively casting' some of the films I've watched, particularly ones I've thoroughly enjoyed, generating a mental picture in my head and seeing how it fares compared to the real deal. The format I've taken here is 'trading' films between decades.

1970s to 2010s: 'Rocky'

2010s to 1970s: 'Interstellar'

Interstellar (1970s)

Director: Steven Spielberg

Obvious choice, really. The likes of 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' and later on, 'E.T.' and 'A.I. Artificial Intelligence' would prove that there were very few better than Mr Speilberg at generating warmth and heart out of the sci-fi genre. 'Interstellar' would definitely be a much grander, epic scale of filmmaking than the aforementioned flicks, but I'm sure he would've gained more than enough experience of blockbuster filmmaking from 'Jaws', to make it his '2001: A Space Odyssey'.

Cooper: Robert Duvall

With a bit of character actor star wattage/name recognition to boot, Duvall would be perfect in Matthew McCoughnagey's role. He was always adept at playing the unassuming, quiet fellow with the right degree of charm (see: The Godfather, Tender Mercies) and would've surely been terrific in the more emotional beats of the story.

Dr Amelia Brand: Jane Fonda

I pick Fonda largely on account of her bringing just that added bit of extra star power to the film. In addition to that she was always at her best playing this sort of strong, intelligent figure who took shit from nobody, and yet would occasionally drop the facade to reveal inner tenderness.

Murph: Sissy Spacek

For the true heart of the film, look no further than one of the up-and-coming actresses of the 1970s, Ms Sissy Spacek. Red hair aside, her wonderfully naturalistic approach to acting would work wonders in grounding the science fiction elements of the film with the grimier, more 'earthly' aspects of the storyline.

Dr John Brand: Trevor Howard

Howard's gruff approach as an actor would fit in perfectly with the character of John Brand, who kind of needs to be one in order to motivate the men on the mission. Think his priest character, in 'Ryan's Daughter', but with a darker edge to his intentions.

Dr Mann: Donald Sutherland

For entertaining, scene-stealing madness, Donald Sutherland's your Mann (no pun intended). One of the reservations I had with Matt Damon's portrayal of the character was that it was almost too...distracting, to have such a big star in that sort of character actor role. Sutherland I feel would've been perfect doing his madman routine with the right blend of humour and menace.

Voice of TARS: Richard Dreyfuss

I thought of casting him as Cooper, but it just seems so right to have Dreyfuss' affable everyman intonation provide Duvall's Cooper with a worthy sparring partner on his journeys in galaxies far, far beyond.


Rocky (2010s)

Director: Gavin O'Connor

Kind of just basing this on one excellent boxing film he's made (Warrior), but that alone's enough to convince me that he'd be the man for the job. I mean Joel Edgerton's arc in that very movie essentially echoes the general structure of the 1976 Best Picture winner.

Rocky Balboa: Oscar Isaac

I was torn between Isaac and Matthias Schonearts, going for Isaac in the end on account of him, despite not being your usual 'boxing'-looking kinda guy, having more of that 'everyman' film to him. Isaac would be excellent in playing out a less-smarter-than-usual sort of character for himself, sort of an expansion of his deadbeat loser in 'Drive'. (another choice, Tom Hardy; I left him off because I wanted to be a bit alternative...)

Adrian: Ruth Wilson

One of the more underrated actresses working today, Wilson would be wonderful in slowly bringing out the underlying strength of the character, without compromisng too much of her originally shy disposition. Just some of her silent reactions in all sorts of films, just does so much with a glance.

Apollo Creed: Anthony Mackie

Mackie's been a pretty solid actor throughout his career, with a certain intrinsic cockiness and physicality to his screen presence that would be perfect for Apollo Creed. Even more interesting, however, would be to see how much of a showman he'd be made into in his hands; the mannerisms, and overall aura of Creed would be fascinating to play with.

Mickey Goldmill: Alan Arkin

Unadventurous casting to say the least, but hey, no one does the cranky old-timer role better than he does nowadays, so why not.

Paulie: Jack Black

Just thought it'd be nice to see Jack play this sort of uncouth, rude bastard without making him completely despicable.

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Breaking Your Icons - A Head-to-Head Breakdown/Review of 'Go Set a Watchman' and 'Paper Towns'

Two of the most pleasant surprises I've had over this summer, insofar as my reading and perusing of films has been concerned, has been a double whammy of Harper Lee's 'sequel' to 'To Kill a Mockingbird', 'Go Set a Watchman', and the film adaptation of John Green's 'Paper Town'. I wasn't expecting much from either, and ended up being quite emotionally floored by the former, and unexpectedly entertained and provoked into thought, by the latter. And perhaps even more so by the common ground I found both material covered; that of cutting our heroes, our myths and legends which we gravitate towards and worship, down to size and, for better or worse.

I must say, with regards to 'Go Set a Watchman' I was a bit in two minds about it before I started. Preconceptions can either hype and disappoint, or prematurely dismiss, and there was a bit of both before I began my trip down Maycomb County once again. I guess all my initial reservations were a combination of bated breath and cynical callousness; I couldn't wait to read it, and yet another part of me, the little fucker in my head, repeatedly insisted that it would hit me right in the childhood, and ruin all that Atticus Finch stood for me and my ways. And I was right in a way. The story begins as not so much a continuation, as a revisiting of Maycomb County, reintroducing and familiarising both us and Jean Louise to its ways and patterns before turning into both a trip down memory lane, picking up where we'd left off from Boo Radley, Tom Robinson, Jem et all (none of whom feature here, unfortunately), and also a re-examination of the past through the present. Without spoiling too much, Jean Louise feels very much a fish out of water, out of sync with the way things are in her hometown and constantly in flux about her relationship with a prospective fiancé, her family and the changing attitudes of the south to race relations. A particular shocking revelation halfway through the book resulted in a compulsion to rip its pages out and like Miss Jean Louise Finch, find some way, any way, back into the days of Scout. I was frustrated and upset, and had half a mind to just quit on it, before realising: maybe that's the point. Maybe I'm upset because Jean Louise is upset. So I bit down on the compulsion, made my way through the rest of 'Watchman', and at its conclusion felt completely, emotionally impacted.

In a way, I guess, I'll never read TKAM in the same way, nor watch the beloved film, ever again, nor will I see Atticus Finch in the same light. And yes, in a way I might subconsciously have been willing that he'd remain the embodiment of human perfection I'd seen him in previously; but see, that's the point I think, about 'Go Set a Watchman'. Written before TKAM, I will say this: it exudes truth, honesty out of its characters in a both beautiful but gut-wrenching manner, by deconstructing them all through the loss of innocence and the attainment, however painful, of necessary revelation. So when similar pangs began swelling as I watched 'Paper Towns', I must say I was rather taken aback; having found the previous Green adaptation effort, the profoundly boring and pretentious (in my opinion, of course, and I can see why so many people loved it) 'The Fault in Our Stars', this fresh breath of air into the teenage-dramedy genre I'd felt had lost its way since the constant ape-ing of 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' post-2012, was not only enjoyable but genuinely compelling. Were it not for 'Mr Holmes' and 'Mad Max', it'd be my film of the year so far.

Much of the success of 'Paper Towns' should be attested to the excellent direction of the criminally underrated Jake Schreier, who also helmed the entertaining and quietly moving 'Robot & Frank' back in 2012. Here, he unleashes even more of the promise he displayed in that film with his ability to guide actors and script through the right beats and the right tones for maximum impact, without ever verging on the overly sentimental territory 'The Fault in Our Stars' essentially set camp in for the whole film. One does wonder, in fact, whether Schreier, screenwriters Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, and Green used TKAM as a reference point, seeing as how seamlessly craft what, strictly speaking, is a fairly typical suburban town in Orlando, Florida, into a backdrop for some truly magical cinematic moments, not unlike how Lee managed to make the simplicities of Maycomb County stand out in TKAM.  'Paper Towns', pre-credits, resembles TKAM in more ways than one through the voiceover by our protagonist Quentin 'Q' Jacobsen (Nat Woolf) recalling summer memories between him and his childhood friend and girl next door Margo Roth Spiegelman, and a particular mystery that sticks out in his mind. It's rather striking how Schreier, Lee, and Robert Mulligan (director of the 1962 adaptation of TKAM) employ the medium of the narrative voice to convey such a beautiful sense of nostalgia. The wonderment that children feel at every choice discovery, and mystery waiting to be uncovered, is so palatably conveyed by this combination of innocence and retrospective insight into innocence after experience, and whether it's the curious case of Boo Radley or the burgeoning friendship between Q and Margo, it's magic at its most grounded.

'Go Set a Watchman' though is an entirely different sort of beast. If you may, it's fits alongside TKAM in a similar way to how everything in the 'present-day' fits in with the past in 'Paper Towns'. Jean Louise's return to home turf gradually becomes not so much a homecoming, but rather a re-examination of ideals and values she had held so dear, primarily those associated with her father, Atticus, whose participation in certain community events leads Jean Louise to question and as her Uncle Jack Finch puts it, reducing her father to 'the status of a human being'. Which is also what 'Paper Towns' is all about. Margo and Q have drifted apart as they've grown older, Margo having joined the 'cool' clique and developed even more of a mystique about her: becoming, yes, your classic Manic Pixie Girl sort. The main meat of the film concerns her disappearance from her hometown. Q, having unexpectedly gone on a 'revenge spree' on friends who'd betrayed her the night before she dashes off and consequently, the last person to see her, begins a journey to not only find Margo, but to gradually realise that she's not the symbol he sees her as, but just another girl in her own right, finding her way in the world, but with the façade of a zany, quirky enigma.

Cara Delevingne plays Margo wonderfully. What could've been just another gratuitous PR move pays dividends as it turns out Delevinge's not only a thoroughly engaging public personality, she's got real acting chops. She's obviously got down the whole kooky, fun-loving mischief-maker down to every tic, and the chemistry she generates with Woolf in their prank scenes (shaving off a jock's eyebrows, snapping a pic of a cheating ex-boyfriend in the nude) is really quite magical. She just has this natural charisma about her that's just the right amount, so as to make her both a throroughly entertaining character to watch, but also an approachable one whom you can make sense of why Woolf's Q falls for her so. Yet she's even better at nailing down what lies beneath the skin. She doesn't have that much screentime overall, but she is pitch perfect in each of the quieter moments where she shows the deeper insecurities and frustrations, and hinting at her desire to break free. It's astonishingly subtle work that works incredibly well for the film, and I can't wait to see what she dabs her hand into next. Woolf too, is very good in a much more understated and consequently, much more likable portrayal of a geeky kid than 'The Faults in Our Stars'. He carries the film admirably whenever Delevinge's offscreen, and is also helped by the good work of Austin Abrams and Justice Smith as his two BFF's Ben and Radar, who join him for a road trip to find Margo. The former is an amusingly crass comic relief, and the latter a nicely attuned straight man, with some good chemistry with his onscreen girlfriend Jaz Sinclair. Halston Sage is also pretty moving as the seemingly superficial Lacey, Margo's best friend, and perhaps gives most weight to the whole central question of whether Margo deserves all her friends' efforts. Much in the same way I questioned, halfway through 'Go Set a Watchman': does Atticus Finch deserve all the love and pride Scout had in him, and which Jean Louise fights to retain, despite his less than savoury hypocrisy twenty years on from the events of TKAM?

The beautifully nuanced cadences of Harper Lee's prose reads as smoothly as ever, but nevertheless 'Go Set a Watchman' is an unsparing read. Characters we've grown to love die, or even worse, become antagonized, seen in an entirely different light. It's only after reading the book that I realised it was all very much the intention of Lee to generate this effect on the reader. Like Q, who must realise that Margo isn't responsible to guide him in life, and learn to treasure not the idealised conception of her, but rather the friendship they had, Jean Louise must accept that her father, while imperfect in his ways, as a man simply trying to right wrongs in any way possible, at the cost of destroying not the illusions, but the visions of her childhood. He's still an icon to Jean Louise; a shattered one, moulded as such by 20 years on, the various controversies of the South, but retaining that original strength of character that believed in the living, breathing realities of the law and court. Both 'Paper Towns' and 'Go Set a Watchman' will frustrate viewers/readers in different ways, but push through and you'll find something genuinely cathartic. Our original conceptions of Atticus Finch and Margo Roth Spieglman may be tainted, but in the process we perhaps gain a fuller understanding not just of the flaws, but the potential for even greater strength by both characters in trying to rectify these faults.

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'Black Bond' Debate Shakes and Stirs, and It's Not Particularly Helpful

All this talk over the past few days about Idris Elba being the potential next Bond compels me to write an article regadng the views the situation, and the wider implications of race in casting choices...and whether there should be these implications, at all. I'm not here to advocate whether or not he'll be great in the role; merely, just to implore everyone to take a licence to chill. This has all become, frankly, much ado about nothing.

Four actors who've been touted to play the next Bond.

Four actors--and let's leave it at that. Why categorize?

Take Anthony Horowitz's comments from the other day: he called Elba 'too street' to play Bond, which perhaps, in retrospect, was a somewhat unwise choice of words. But I have no doubt that there was not a hint of what many people assumed to be, connotations of 'James Bond being white is of paramount importance to me'. Note that he did not make any reference whatsoever to the Elba's ethnicity aside from the fact that he felt 'there were other black actors who could do it better'. Now actually I do take some issue with that statement, but hold onto that for a bit: back to the point, he merely stated that he was open to the idea of a 'Black Bond', but that Idris Elba was not his ideal choice for a 'Black Bond' (I believe he listed Adrian Lester as one of his options; on a separate note, I appreciate that Horowitz gave a shout out to perhaps one of the more underrated, due to his priority and love for stagework over screenwork, British actors working today). Hence, regarding Horowitz's comments, I think people should just take the time to look over what he said exactly, and stop trying to fire up even more speculation and controversy regarding all this discussion over the next Bond. And no, that's not to diminish the importance of the Bond franchise whatsoever, nor of fan's opinions, or studio's decisions when it comes to casting. I understand that in many people's eyes there is an ideal conception of Bond, and when it comes to Idris Elba, it's the same as any other: some think he's perfect, some think he's a good choice, some think he isn't, some just don't care and want to see who the next villain is. So really, this is the same, or at least should be the same, as any other potential casting decision, if you think about it. Except for the fact that people have, unfortunately, made it into a race issue.

It's just not helpful, making mountains out of molehills, smelling racial conspiracy over a casual aside, that's really no different, except for the intense media coverage, to me mentioning that in my own honest, frank opinion, I would prefer Chiwetel Ejiofor (another excellent actor) as Bond over Elba (who is a fantastic actor in his own right as well), and that my ideal pick would be either Ejiofor and Henry Cavill, depending on what sort of direction the studios are planning to take the franchise in post-Craig. Note: I did not say, I would prefer Ejiofor over Elba as a 'Black Bond'. I prefer Ejiofor over Elba purely on basis on how, in my very, very subjective opinion, I envision Bond. And I am equally fond of the idea of either Cavill and Ejiofor playing Bond, and not seeing either of them as a 'White' Bond, or 'Black' Bond, respectively. And I would not mind if Damian Lewis, another very good actor, were to be given the opportunity to take over Craig's future vacancy (I've heard some people say a ginger Bond would lack intimidation; well all I have to say with regards to that is, watch Lewis on Wolf Hall. Or The Escapist. Seriously when the man wants to be, Mr Lewis is one hell of an imposing presence). Anyway I've meandered on a bit now so to bring this point to (temporary closure), with regards to any actor chosen to play a role as iconic as Bond, there's bound to be heated advocations, criticisms, and reservations on either side. Some people will think he's the best choice, others think he's all kinds of wrong, or that there are other better options.

And there's nothing wrong with being averse to Elba's potential casting choice, so long as you don't bring race to the front. I'm not talking about the casual internet troll who uses all manner of racial slang and stereotypes; that sort of chap can go do one for all I care, his/her opinion being completely negligible. I refer to what some people might call institutionalized racism, but what I prefer to term narrow-mindedness: basing colour and creed above all and going against any decision that results on inquality based on these factors. And thing is, a lot of the time this so-called 'institutionalized racism' doesn't come from the institutions itself, but from the debates surrounding the insitution. It's the power of the internet, social media, the news etc. that sometimes generates these issues, and having watched many instances of this as years go by, it's really quite disturbing how sometimes, we so subconsciously encourage narrow-mindedness of this sort. It can all, in short, become quite messy when people start to bring issues of race in correlation with issues regarding art forms like film and television.

I guess writing a heated article about taking a chill pill about all this ruckus might be a tad bit hypocritical. The written word is always fuel for more discussion, so what I'm hoping is that what I'm discussing here will provide, however small, a meaningful contribution to the argument against there being the label of 'Black Bond', and indeed, there being racial labels in any sort of casting decision. Does race really matter, with regards to the casting of roles? I don't think so, so far as the quality of the casting choice and finished product is concerned. Given that the actor concerned is right for the role, and the role itself is written the right way, and that both factors work in accordance with a film, there's nothing wrong with casting an actor outside of his or her ethnicity. Take for example William Hurt playing  Luis Monila in 'Kiss of the Spider Woman'. Technically the character is Brazilian, which Hurt, Washington-born and with blonde hair and blue eyes, is clearly not, and the film nor Hurt's performance makes any attempt to hide this. No one really raised an issue with this at all, for a good reason: he gives a great performance regardless of race. He won an Oscar for the role because he realistically conveyed

Same goes for many other similar performances in which actors play outside their race, ethnicity, nationality etc., with varying degrees of success. The quality of their performance depends on the quality of the script, acting, direction, and not the casting itself. Feel free to disagree, but say, for example, there was nothing wrong at all with casting actors in roles outside of their race in 'Cloud Atlas' because the intent was the symbolize the intertwinement of all human natures, throughout the ages. Any problems I found (which were far and few in between) with some of the choices were down to the makeup employed, or the take the actors took for the character. And what about 'Othello'? Over the course of television and cinematic history, the likes of Sir Laurence Olivier and Sir Anthony Hopkins have portrayed Othello in what some have criticized as 'blackface', but what I like to simply call, black make up that, rather than having any racist connotations, I believe was simply a way for the actors to find their way into the character. There have been white actors playing Othello. There have been black actors playing other Shakesperean characters (just off the top of my head, Kurt Egiyawan as Angelo in a recent, excellent production of 'Measure for Measure' I saw at The Globe). And so on and so forth, and none of it bothers me at all, nor should it.

Instances in which casting an actor outside his/her race backfires, therefore is not usually the fault of the casting itself, it's the approach that was taken. Mickey Rooney's performance as Mr Yunioshi in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' doesn't work for me at all not because of the racial connotations of the role, nor the fact that Rooney was playing outside his race. It could've worked if the performance itself wasn't so ill-conceived in terms of fitting so awkwardly with the rest of the film, and just not being particularly funny. Rooney was a talented comedian and, had he and Blake Edwards taken a different approach to the role, I could easily have seen it woking. Contrast that to, for example, Max Von Sydow as 'Ming' in 'Flash Gordon'. Technically speaking an instance of casting an actor outside of his race, and also taking on another racial stereotype, in this case the 'Fu Manchu' trope. It works as a performance because it's fun, and fits in with the rest of the film as just another entertaining factor to it.

But I digress. Anyway, back to Bond. I would agree that in the case of a pop culture mainstay like 007, the circumstances do differ slightly. Many factors do have to be taken into consideration, one of them being Ian Fleming, the creator of Bond, and his conception of the character. Fleming described Bond as facially resembling entertainer Hoagy Carmichael, having 'dark, rather cruel good looks', black hair, blue-grey eyes, around 6 feet tall. It's clear that Elba doesn't fit some of these criterea, and yes it is almost certain that Fleming had always conceived of Bond as being Caucasian. On the other hand, with all the different portrayals of Bond over the year, does it really matter? Fleming himself was not averse to having certain liberties taken with his character. For example, despite never having intended to give Bond a Scottish heritage, Sean Connery's portrayal of the character compelled him to add it in in later novels. The likes of Roger Moore and Daniel Craig don't fit Fleming's original conception of the character perfectly, so far as physical attributes are concerned, but they made the character their own in very distinct ways that, as with all casting choices, worked for some, didn't work for others.

Indeed all Bonds up to this point have, to one extent or the other, played different variations of the role, with different emphasis on aspects of 007. Brosnan and Connery played up the charm, Moore the humour, Dalton and Craig the cool professionalism, Lazenby the more sensitive side (which again I don't think was ever Fleming's intent with the character, but hey, in my opinion it works for the film). What I'm trying to say that each Bond thus far has varied and distinguished, as well as paid homage to, the original Bond in different ways. Why should Elba, were he to take on the role, be treated any differently? I'm sure, were he to be cast as Bond, he would take on the character in his own distinct way, like any good actor would. Perhaps a bit of that intangible charm he has to his public persona, merged with the 'street smarts' of Luther or his character in 'Rock'n'Rolla', the command of Hemidall...or maybe I'm just being presumptive, and he'll go for something different to what I'd expect. Or maybe I'm being even more presumptive

Again it doesn't matter. Were he to be cast as Bond, Elba would be a different, unique sort of Bond. Just like any Bond. So why does Idris Elba have to be a prospective 'Black Bond'? Can't he just be the prospective next 'Bond? Is it too much to, like desiring art to be appreciated for art's sake, to want creative choices to be more about the 'creativity', the artistic ballast behind the choice, rather than the sometimes superfluous connotations of the choice itself? Perhaps I'm an idealist, but I've had it with being too cynical about these sorts of things; it only serves to make one more susceptible to further debate, which isn't what I want. I want a choice to be a choice, and that's that.

I'm no fan of trying to categorize an actor's suitability for the role based on his, or her, race. I completely understand that sometimes factors like foreign distribution and box office come into factor: for example, 2012's 'Bullet to the Head' replacing Thomas Jane with Sung Kang in order to appeal to a wider ethnic audience; or the recent Ridley Scott effort 'Exodus: Gods and Kings' casting Hollywood stars as opposed to actors more ethnically fitting to the roles, causing controversy of 'whitewashing'. There were economic and financing reasons for these decisions, and while we may not all agree on them, we have to understand that filmmaking's a business. And I'm fine with that. I'm just hoping that race never becomes an issue when talking about the quality of a film or performance itself. Michael Jordan is not a 'black Johnny Storm', he is a separate take on Johnny Storm distinct from Chris Evans', and any problems with the films or his performance should be attested not to his race, but his approach--and anyway, in my opinion, he was by far the best part of that mess of a film.

Mark Strong as an Arab character in 'Body of Lies', Yul Brynner throughout his whole career, Ben Affleck in 'Argo', Amitabh Bachchan as the Jewish Meyer Wolfshiem in 'The Great Gatsby', or the likes of Warner Oland and Myrna Loy back in the day playing Oriental characters--one's views towards these performances should be purely orientated towards how the performance and portrayal alone work within the film (although I admit in the case of biopic figures, like John Wayne as Genghis Khan in 'The Conqueror', it is trickier territory; it's all down to context as well, but usually I can see where the controversy is coming from, in this regard). Similarly, if Idris Elba is to be offered a chance to be the next Bond, let's not see it as having any sort of connotations any greater than a terrific actor being given a great opportunity. Simple as that.

(All images from Wikipedia/Wikimedia)

Alfred Hitchcock's 'Saboteur': The 'Wrong Man' Done Right

Employing the trope of the 'wrong man' on the run is, can all go awry if the stakes aren't high enough or conversely, too ridiculous to be taken seriously. It can feel too episodic if the plot and 'wrong man' drags themselves from one setting to another with no particular drive or purpose; or simply put, if our leads are just too bland or unlikable to even compel us to join them on this journey. One reason that there haven't been (insofar as my viewing catalogue is concerned) as many complete disasters in this genre may be that though easily mucked up, if a director/cast/production team plays by a certain set of rules regarding the structure of the plot, the filming of scenes, the development of character etc. then more often than not, you'll have for better or worse a 'Fugitive'-esque style thriller on your hands.

All I can say is, a whole lot of these productions owe an awful lot to Alfred Hitchcock, the ultimate master of the 'wrong man' staple. No one could make the pursuit of justice to right personal injustice as compelling as he did in the likes of 'The 39 Steps', 'North by Northwest', 'Frenzy', and of course, 'Saboteur', perhaps my favourite 'wrong man' thriller of them all. Well I'll get to all that in a bit; but firstly, I'd just like to take a look at why exactly Hitchcock's 'wrong man' thrillers worked as well as they did.

In 'The 39 Steps' he ensured that leading man Robert Donat's charm was not only everpresent, but also worked in accordance with the film's tone; Hitchcock understood that sometimes, simplicity was necessary in order for the actor's talent to shine through, and made use of often rather simple, yet effective and entertaining, little setpieces like the detour to the farm, or a hotel room rendezvous, to make the most of his leading man's comic timing and chemistry with Madelline Carrol. A similar tact was employed with the incredible quartet of the kings of suave Cary Grant and James Mason, an up-and-coming Martin Landau and perhaps the most underrated Oscar-winner of all-time Eve Marie Saint, in 'North by Northwest'; with a substantially bigger budget and a larger scope, there's much more frentic and very, very fun action going on throughout this very popular thriller, but like 'The 29 Steps' Hitchcock alway remembers to ground them with some quieter scenes where he relaxes his director's stronghold, and allows the acting and script to shine.

What I'm trying to say here, albeit rather meanderingly, is that above all Hitchcok's success with the 'wrong man' trope was that instead of focusing solely on what goes 'wrong', he never forgets the essence of the 'man', men, characters; and I think 'Saboteur', above all his other work (which I all like to love), exemplifies this best. It's a supremely underrated little gem of a film, one sadly oft forgotten due to being overshadowed amongst the throngs of his more 'serious' works. I can watch it over and over again and not only find something new to pick out each time, but also gain a finer appreciation for the elements of it I love already. Simply put, it's the Master of Suspense not only at his most suspenseful, but also unleashing all his tricks at the camera through various different modes.

Robert Cummings (right) and Priscilla Lane (left)

One of these modes is of course, the aforementioned charm of the leading man, namely Robert Cummings who plays Barry Kane, an airplane factory worker who's framed for the murder of his best friend in an act of fiery sabotage. Cummings also played, perhaps more famously, a straight man to Ray Milland's devious villain in 'Dial M for Murder', where he wasn't particularly bad but just a bit bland, more there to provide Milland with a straw man to devour. Now I have to admit that the role of Barry Kane is in a way not overly dissimilar to that role, insofar as Cummings acts here as a facilitator for the more flamboyant and colourful supporting players. The plot of 'Saboteur' is a particularly fast-paced one, and so it's vital for Cummings in particular to not only give the right sort of reactions to all the twist and turns around him, but to deal with the characterization of Kane on the go. Cummings does this all with a particularly unassuming style from the outset; it's telling that Hitchcock's original choice for the role was Gary Cooper as Kane is, while not necessarily a man of few words, a very reactive and understated sort of fellow who doesn't try to stand out too much. Cumming's Cooper-esque approach really does work very well in accentuating not only the Average Joe qualities of Kane, but also to give the right sort of grief and indignation at his friend's demise in a horrible fire 'accident', and accusation of his complicity in it by the authorities.

Kane is never overplayed, and Cummings never overacts these emotions, precisely because the script and direction never need him to. The opening of 'Saboteur' is patient and slow-burning (no pun intended), but never becomes dull because Cummings, as well as being properly realistic and grounded as Kane, also imbudes some of his natural charm and humour to avoid dragging the film down with too much unnecessary solemnity. I particularly like his very funny exchanges with a talkative truck driver (Murray Alper) that help lighten the overall mood and allows Cummings to just tap into some of his old fashioned leading man charm. Soon after all that we're introduced to Priscilla Lane's Patricia 'Pat' Martin, who becomes Kane's unwitting hostage, adversary and ultimately ally all in the course of one film! Lane to her credit, manages each and every one of these transitions rather well, and strikes up a suitably sweet, playful interplay with Cummings that adds to the film nicely, but never overstays its welcome. I should note that the writing of the character does help her a great deal, as Ms Martin is given substantially more to do than you'd expect from a 'wrong man' film. Hitchcock's first ever all-American cast fittingly has its female lead in a role most evocative of its 1940s setting: the fast-talking, Jean Arthur-esque snarky blonde with guts and brains may have become a bit of a caricature as the years go by, but here it's freshly handled by Lane.

(left to right) Cummings, Clem Bevans (Neilson), Alan Baxter (Freeman)

Alma Kruger (centre) as the amusingly haggard Nazi hostess

Norman Lloyd as Fry, a literal small fry

The fantastic Otto Kruger playing mastermind Nazi Tobin

And of course we have the villains. One of the knocks I have against 'The 39 Steps' was its lack of a memorable villain, indeed they almost appeared to be a footnote to the whole plot. This is a minor nitpick really as it doesn't hurt the film at all, but it's clear by the time 'North by Northwest' came around that Hitchcock had become quite fond of having a strong villain to counter the hero against on a regular basis. While James Mason and Martin Landau's performances as Cary Grant's adversaries are incredible in their own right, I have a sneaking suspicion both direction and performance of those characters, took a good deal of inspiration from 'Saboteur'. As Tobin, Mason's equivalent in 'Saboteur', Otto Kruger, a sterling character actor of the time who sort of resembled an even gaunter, more affable Clifton Webb, really digs his teeth into the role. He gives his character's megalomania the right doses of both wit and madness, and makes use of his relatively limited screentime to both entertain and haunt the plot.

As his co-workers, Clem Bevans, Alan Baxter and Alma Kruger are all rather good at just adding a bit more character to the film, but the highlight (and indeed, maybe my favourite performance in the whole film) is that of Norman Lloyd as Fry. Technically speaking, it's a bit of a throwaway role; despite being the 'culprit' of the film's titular sabotage, the script really doesn't spend all that much time with Fry as a character. Not to worry though--Lloyd makes for an absolutely splendid villain purely through his physical performance alone. There is no wasted gesture or glare Lloyd employs in just accentuating what an unfeeling bastard Fry is, and particularly in the final scenes, what a despicable and pathetic coward he becomes when pushed to his brink.

Vaughan Glaser as Pat Martin's blind grandfather

The excellent, heartfelt ensemble of circus performers

Of course, this being Hitchcock, he doesn't just go for the one-note. Villains and heroes aside, the most defining aspect of 'Saboteur' I feel, is how many heartwarming qualities it has for a spy thriller. Kane's refuge at a blind old man's residence for sanctuary, food and warmth is just a brilliantly realised scene. Carrying echoes of 'Frankenstein' (the man more sinned against than sinning, irrevocably excluded from society finding solace with a sightless, non-judgemental figure), it's just such a nice respite from all the running about, and Vaughan Glaser is just such a wonderfuly, endearing presence, firstly doing the kind grandfatherly act before taking it apart and revealing even more heartrending depths of selflessness and kindness. Later on, Kane and Martin run into another set of kindly figures, a bunch of circus performers. From the cojoined ladies to the bearded woman and their leader, a cordial thin man, they exude such simple humanity and kindness to their 'guests' with just the right amount of quirky and humour. It's a lovely little scene that plays around with Hitchcock's usual portrayal of 'freaks' as this time around, being ironically the most humane, sympathetic characters, and also gives Cummings and Lane that added bit of spark to their character's relationship, by the frissoning warmth of others (note: when watching the film, note Ms Lane's reaction shots to a particularly unnerving seat she sits upon in the train. It's a marvellously acted few seconds)

And of course, the big Hitchcock setpieces. Without spoiling too much, the above two pictures help encompass what makes 'Saboteur' not only the thrilling ride it is, but also one of the most meticulously constructed works of Hitchcock's. So much detail in every scene as they bounce from comedy to thriller to drama to romance; so much care put into how every scene is lighted and filmed whether it be the nicely expansive, playful camerawork of the ballroom scene or the tight-knit, tense work of the Statue of Liberty scene, you're eyes will be glued to the screen every second of it. And you'll love it.

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